


We Built Our Own House

by ttakjoha (nematoda)



Category: GOT7
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Everyone else is in their 20s, Fake/Pretend Relationship, I'm bad at summaries but don't be fooled this is actually a very emotional and complex work, Jackson is a weary father who has no control over his children, Jackson is their legal guardian, Jinyoung is slightly socially awkward and fascinated by Jackson and desperate for love, Kid Fic, M/M, Slow Build, Unrequited Love, more tags to be added later, really just so much fluff, respiratory therapist Jinyoung, there's humor too though it's not a snore fest I promise, yugbam are 15, yugbam are little shits who don't give their hyung a break
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2018-09-19 10:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 87,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9435923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nematoda/pseuds/ttakjoha
Summary: Jackson is an idiot who told his kids he was dating someone instead of actually telling them about his third job.Jinyoung is the idiot who agrees to help him.





	1. If you've got no place to go, if you're feeling down

**Author's Note:**

> A BIG FAT DISCLAIMER:  
> This fic is very much *in progress* and I have no schedule whatsoever for posting. Read at your own risk.
> 
> Fic title from "Our Own House" by MisterWives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Take a Chance on Me" by ABBA.

To be completely honest, Jackson shouldn’t have agreed to bartend for Mark in the first place.

“It’ll just be one night,” Mark had begged over the phone. He’d had to fire his weeknight bartender after one too many missed shifts, and he’d been filling in the needed shifts himself, despite his own full-time job as an analyst or an actuary or something else ridiculously intelligent people like Mark do. “I have a big meeting first thing Monday morning and I really need to sleep.”

Mark earned more than enough money at his real job to support himself, which made it even more confusing that he still kept the bar running anyways. He’d inherited it from some great uncle or another years ago, before he was rich and successful, and nowadays he barely spent any time there, other than to collect the profits (if there were any) at the end of every week. The only reason the place was still actually open for business was the dedicated patronage of the employees of the hospital across the street. Tired nurses trying to forget things they’ve seen over the course of a difficult shift drink a lot, apparently, and they would probably stage a revolt if the place ever closed.

“Why are you even open so late on Sunday nights anyways?” Jackson had groused on Saturday afternoon when Mark called him. He had his own work to go to on Monday, and he wasn’t exactly thrilled by the idea of staying up until bar close (at six a.m., no less) so a bunch of doctors could get wasted. Sleep is very important to Jackson. _Very_ important. Probably in his top five list of favorite things.

“It’s the end of the hospital’s work week. They’d picket the property if I closed early on a Sunday,” Mark had explained, sounding as irritated over the phone as Jackson felt. “Please, Gaga? You can keep all the tips you make.”

Jackson had felt himself begin to cave. Whenever Mark used his old nickname, he was bound to cave eventually. He sighed extra-dramatically, just to be obnoxious, and Mark started thanking him instantly, knowing the battle was already won.

“What’s this I heard about tips?”

And that’s how Jackson ended up sneaking out of his apartment just before eleven o’clock on a Sunday night, slipping past two dead-eyed teenagers playing video games on the couch and out into the bitter, lingering cold of February. When Jackson had arrived at the bar, which was already filling up with scrub-clad hospital employees, Mark had showed him the basics and bolted, thanking him about two dozen more times as he left. Being intimately familiar with Jackson’s less-than-ideal attention span, Mark had also left behind a piece of paper with everything he’d said about running the bar written down.

What Mark hadn’t planned on was exactly how difficult it was going to be for Jackson to stay awake. It’s not a crime to be well rested, okay? Jackson can hardly be blamed for trying to snag a quick catnap, especially considering he really did have work in the morning, and, not unlike a grandpa, he typically preferred to be in bed by nine thirty.

“Excuse me, are you okay?”

The soft voice, raised above the din of loud music and louder conversation, startles Jackson out of his nap. He raises his head from where it was pillowed on his arms on the bar top and looks up into a pair of dark, curious eyes. The speaker, a young man, probably somewhere in his late twenties, is just stupidly handsome, far too handsome to be the first thing Jackson sees when he wakes up. His skin, flawless and the color of milk tea, is only made more beautiful by the contrast of his red scrub top and black long sleeve shirt. He’s got this thick, black hair, part to the side over equally thick, black eyebrows, that just seem to work on his face even though logically they shouldn’t. His jaw, which is dusted with the beginnings of dark stubble, is fucking majestic, deeply curving on each side and meeting in the middle to form the cutest chin Jackson has ever seen (Jackson hadn’t even known chins could _be_ cute before this moment). Above his chin rests the prettiest, poutiest set lips in the entire world; lips which look even better when the man darts his tongue out to wet them, which, wow, rude.

“I’m fine,” Jackson says eventually, when he realizes he’s staring. He gives his cheeks a few slaps to wake himself up (and maybe to give an excuse for the redness he can feel creeping up his face), stands up from his barstool, marvelling at the fact that he hadn’t fallen off of it during his micro-nap, and stretches. The handsome man, hunched forward on his own stool across the counter, pulls his long sleeves over his fingers in a way that just screams _uncomfortable,_ but his face looks bemused. Jackson flashes him a big, toothy smile, hoping he’ll be the type that tips generously. “Can I get you anything?”

“A refill would be great,” the man says, sliding his pint glass across the counter. Jackson takes it and goes to put it in the sink, but the man waves an arm, stopping him short. “You can use the same glass. I don’t need a new one.”

“But… that’s against the rules,” Jackson says dumbly, still not fully awake.

The man looks thoroughly confused, eyes wide like he’s afraid he’s offended Jackson. How does he manage to make confusion look gorgeous? Damn. “Which rules?”

“These rules,” Jackson says, locating Mark’s instructions (the words running slightly from the vodka he’d accidentally splashed on them) and holding them aloft. He holds it close to his face to read it aloud. “‘Number six: every drink gets a new glass. No exceptions.’”

“Oh,” the man says, face clearing into a look of understanding. Despite the awkward set of his shoulders, he gives an affable shrug, and Jackson’s head swims a little bit with how _cute_ he is. People his age aren’t supposed to be cute anymore, that’s just unfair. “I’m just trying to save you one more glass to clean.”

“I have to _clean_ these?” Jackson gasps, looking down at the offending glass in his hand, noticing a perfect lip-shaped mark on the rim of it. He looks up again, mouth agape, and the stranger’s face crinkles up in a genuine smile, the first Jackson’s seen from him.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Deal,” Jackson says, ditching the list of rules and taking the glass over to the taps. When Jackson stands in front of the row of tap handles, completely forgetting which beer this particular customer had been drinking, the man reaches across the counter and points out the correct one. Jackson gives him a sheepish smile. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” the customer says, watching as Jackson very carefully fills his glass. Once upon a time, Mark had taught him the trick to properly pouring a pint, but he hadn’t really been paying attention, and so far all of his have come out with either too much foam or none whatsoever. This particular glass falls into the former category, ending up half-filled with actual liquid and the rest of the glass full of foam, so much that it spills over the top. Jackson shrugs apologetically as he slides the glass back across the counter, and the customer takes it with a smile. “First night on the job?”

“How could you tell?” Jackson asks, throwing in a self-deprecating chuckle for good measure. He’s trying to figure out this guy’s deal, the best way to get a good tip out of him. He’s clearly alone, although whether that’s by choice or circumstance isn’t clear. The guy doesn’t really seem like the type to drink alone, considering his blatantly uncomfortable vibe and the way he keeps looking longingly over his shoulder at the full room of boisterous nurses. Jackson thinks he can work with this; he’s always been at his best one-on-one anyways. So far his bartending performance, namely falling asleep on the bar, forgetting which beer the customer had been drinking, and pouring a sub-par pint, has not warranted a tip at all. But Jackson is nothing if not doggedly persistent, especially when money is on the line, and if it means he gets to chat for a while with who he’s beginning to suspect is the most beautiful man in Seoul, well, then, that’s just a bonus, really.

“Well, you fell asleep on the job, you didn’t charge me for this--” the customer holds his beer aloft in a mock toast and takes a deep sip, eyes dancing with mirth, before continuing-- “and I believe I heard Mark-ssi telling you ‘just don’t burn it to the ground and everything will be fine’ before he left.”

“You know Mark?” Jackson asks, giving the man a curious look. He must be a regular, then, or at least a frequent customer in the last few weeks that Mark’s been tending the bar himself. But if the handsome man and Mark know each other, why has Mark never mentioned anything? Jackson’s going to give him an earful over this later. Even though he’s sworn off dating himself, he doesn’t have any rules against _appreciating_ eligible bachelors. Well, that’s assuming this stunning man is, in fact, eligible, which Jackson seriously doubts. There’s no ring on his finger, but with a face like that? He’s probably got significant others on a rotation.

“I wouldn’t say that,” the customer says, looking down and running a finger through the condensation forming on his glass. Jackson isn’t completely sure how to interpret that. Is he just nervous, or did something happen? Was Mark his usual strong-and-silent type and somehow offended him? The man huffs a quiet, humorless laugh. “I’ve seen him around, but I doubt he knows who I am.”

 _Oh,_ Jackson thinks. So it’s an unrequited thing? What is wrong with Mark, that he cannot see true beauty when it’s right in front of him? They are definitely having a talk tomorrow.

“Who are you, then?” Jackson asks, aiming for casual and not sure if he’s succeeding. Judging by the knowing smirk on the man’s face, probably not, but this is vital information. He’s got to have a name to scold Mark with, after all.

“Park Jinyoung, respiratory therapist.” He holds out a hand, and Jackson shakes it, taking note of a soft palm and long fingers.

“Wang Jackson, substitute bartender.”

“And how did we get the pleasure of having you as our substitute, Jackson-ssi?” Jinyoung asks, smirk deepening into something a little less mild and a little more mischievous. That’s better. Jackson wasn’t a fan of that self-deprecating nonsense earlier. He’s also a little bit proud that some of the tension seems to have left Jinyoung’s shoulders, and he hasn’t looked pitifully around the bar since they started talking.

“I’m just helping Mark out tonight. He has to work in the morning,” Jackson says as he heads to the sink, which is overflowing with the dirty glasses that he’s been piling up all night. Mark, the bastard, hadn’t said anything about washing dishes, or included it in his list. Maybe he’d thought it was obvious. He should really know better. Jackson can’t help but sigh as he turns on the hot water and locates a sponge. Washing dishes is the _worst._ Especially since he can’t seem to find any soap.

“And you don’t?” Jinyoung asks, watching Jackson stare blankly at the sink and surrounding countertops. He clears his throat quietly, and Jackson’s attention snaps back up. Jinyoung’s lips are pressed tightly together, and Jackson thinks Jinyoung might be trying not to laugh at him. “I think the soap is under the sink.” Jackson locates it and holds it aloft in a salute of thanks, before spraying the bottle liberally all over the dishes. More soap is better, right? The more soap, the cleaner the glasses will get, probably. Besides, it’s not his soap; it’s not like he has to replace the bottle if it runs out.

“I do work tomorrow--uh, today?” Jackson twists his neck around to look at the clock hanging behind him. It’s only three thirty. Jackson holds back an exhausted groan; there’s still two and a half hours left until bar close. “I guess it’s today already. But anyways, Mark’s work is more important,” Jackson says, sounding disgruntled to his own ears as he turns back to dig through the rapidly expanding soap foam in the sink. He isn’t really mad; he wouldn’t have agreed to do it if he was really mad, but Jinyoung doesn’t know that, and he’s probably thinking Jackson is an asshole for agreeing to help his friend and then bitching about it to the first stranger who will listen. Jinyoung is quiet for a while, and all Jackson can hear is the racket of the bar, muting his senses as he works through glass after glass, stuck in his own head once he’s got a task to focus on. He’s sort of hoping the guy will just go away, but when he looks up, twenty or so cleaned glasses later, Jinyoung is still watching him, expression unreadable. Jackson, as usual, says the first thing that comes to mind. “Shouldn’t you be off conversing with your doctor friends?”

“I’m not a doctor,” Jinyoung says, seemingly startled by Jackson’s returned gaze. He takes another deep pull of his beer and licks his lips. Jackson narrowly avoids groaning aloud in frustration. That move should be illegal in like, at least three countries. Including this one. Jinyoung sets down his glass, curling his fingers delicately around it until they overlap, and shrugs. “Besides, this is more interesting.”

“What’s so interesting about a guy washing dishes?” Jackson grumbles.

“I’m curious to see how long it’s going to take you to figure out that there’s a dishwasher right next to you.”

Jackson turns to look and sure enough, hiding in plain sight under the counter, immediately to the right of the same cabinet from which he had retrieved the dish soap, is an industrial dishwasher, big enough to fit all the glasses he just washed and then some. He lets out a string of curses, running his hands through his hair before remembering that they’re wet and soapy, and cursing again at the damp, slimy feeling now coating his scalp.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Jackson absolutely does not whine, reaching into the sink to scoop up soap foam and fling it at the unbelievably smug Jinyoung.

“I just did, didn’t I?” Jinyoung laughs, batting away the bubbles. His eyes are doing this crinkly thing that’s just heartbreakingly adorable, and Jackson feels inordinately pleased that it’s because of him. Even if it is at his expense.

“That’s it, you’re cut off,” Jackson announces mock-seriously, wiping his hands on a towel he finds folded on the counter. “If you’re not at least going to tip me for my troubles, go annoy your co-workers and leave me alone to suffer.”

“If they haven’t noticed I’m missing by now, they probably never will,” Jinyoung says with another self-deprecating smile. “They’re not actually my co-workers anyways.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jackson asks around a yawn, beginning to load the remainder of the dirty glassware into the empty dishwasher. If nothing else, the whole dish saga has certainly woken him up a little. He feels slightly less like returning to his stool for another quick nap than he did before they started talking.

“See that guy over there?” Jinyoung asks, turning to point across the crowded bar to a group of people gathered around a pool table. “The one whose tonsils you can see from over here? That’s Choi Youngjae.”

Jackson spots him, a man in dark scrubs who looks far too young to be an employee of the hospital, standing with his hands wrapped around a pool cue and his mouth open so wide in a laugh that Jackson could probably count his molars if he wanted to. The sound of the young man’s laughter reaches them from across the room, easily carrying over the racket between them, and Jackson has no doubt that if he was standing next to that man, his hearing would be severely damaged.

“He invites me here all the time, says I need to socialize more,” Jinyoung explains, long fingers rubbing absentminded patterns on his nearly empty glass. “Sometimes I feel guilty enough to accept.”

“Why aren’t you over there with them, then?” Jackson asks as he puts the last glass in the dishwasher and closes the door. He squats to get a better look at all the buttons, cursing himself for forgetting his glasses, and after a moment of confusion, just pushes several buttons and hopes for the best. The dishwasher hums to life, which is probably a good sign. Jackson straightens up and leans against the bar, giving Jinyoung his full attention again. It’s not like it’s hard; the guy continues to be ridiculously easy to look at.

“Youngjae is sweet, but painfully optimistic,” Jinyoung says with a sigh. He turns around again to look at the group of people, just as Youngjae completely misses the ball with his cue stick and throws his head back again, cackling. Jinyoung turns back to Jackson, leans his head in one hand, and waves a finger lazily back and forth between himself and the other group. “Don’t you notice anything different between us?”  
“Other than that he’s having fun and you’re not? No.”

Jinyoung rolls his eyes. “He’s wearing navy blue scrubs. I’m wearing red scrubs,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Jackson shrugs, not really getting the significance. “So you like different colors?”

“No, we work in different departments,” Jinyoung explains slowly. Jackson thinks Jinyoung might be getting slightly tipsy, if the way he’s leaning heavily on the bar is any indication. His voice is becoming a little deeper too, smoother, almost, and it makes the hairs on the back of Jackson’s neck stand on end. “The hospital staff is color coded by department. Navy for nursing, red for respiratory, teal for technicians. Do you see anyone else in red scrubs here?”

Jackson scans the room and shakes his head. The majority of the people are wearing navy blue scrubs, with a handful of people in teal. Jinyoung is the only person wearing red, and now that Jackson’s noticed it, Jinyoung sticks out like a sore thumb.

“This bar is nurse territory.” Jinyoung leans in, voice lowered conspiratorially, and yes, he’s definitely a little tipsy. His eyes are slightly unfocused, and as he closes the gap between himself and Jackson, Jackson can feel Jinyoung’s breath puffing out across his face. It’s moist and reeks like beer, but it gives Jackson goosebumps all the same. Those pouty lips are suddenly in close proximity, allowing Jackson’s sub-par vision his first clear look, and it’s unfairly distracting. Jackson notices a little mole just off-center on his top lip, and wonders how many people know about it. Thankfully, Jinyoung doesn’t seem to notice Jackson’s staring, or he’s too busy talking to care. “If it weren’t for Youngjae, I wouldn’t even be here.”

“So do the, uh, the--” Jackson can’t remember the word for Jinyoung’s job.

“Respiratory therapists,” Jinyoung supplies instantly.

“Yes, thank you. Do the respiratory therapists drink at another bar?” Jackson asks, lowering his voice to match Jinyoung’s, although he’s not sure what they’re being quiet about in the first place.

“The respiratory therapists don’t drink at all,” Jinyoung says dramatically. It’s not until Jinyoung leans back suddenly and cool air rushes over his skin that Jackson realizes how warm he feels. There’s a prickle of sweat on the back of his neck that wasn’t there ten minutes ago. When Jackson raises a disbelieving eyebrow at Jinyoung’s claim, Jinyoung quickly corrects himself. “Well, either that, or they drink alone. Like I’m doing now.”

“Are the respiratory therapists the lepers of the hospital or something?” Jackson asks, cushioning his chin in his fist and leaning in closer, chasing the warmth that disappeared when Jinyoung pulled away. He doesn’t miss the way Jinyoung’s eyes flick down to his mouth as he talks, and he certainly doesn’t miss the conspicuous working of his throat as he swallows.

“N-no,” Jinyoung stutters, breaking his gaze away from Jackson’s mouth. He shrugs and looks down at the bar top, running his finger through a ring of condensation. Jackson suddenly realizes he forgot to give Jinyoung a coaster. Mark would be so disappointed; that was rule three on the list. “We just move all over the hospital every shift. There isn’t much time to make friends.”

“Well, I’ll be your friend,” Jackson announces, pushing back from the bar resolutely. He grabs a coaster and picks up Jinyoung’s glass, sliding the coaster underneath. It’s empty, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

Jinyoung looks up, seeming amused but in a sad kind of way, like he’s used to being offered pity friendship. “That won’t do me a lot of good, unless you’re going to quit your day job and come work at the hospital.”

“How do you know I don’t work there already? I never told you what I do.”

“Do you?” Jinyoung looks so hopeful, Jackson instantly feels bad for leading him on.

“No,” Jackson admits, noting the slight slump in Jinyoung’s shoulders, and deeming it unacceptable. No one should have to drink alone, work function or otherwise. “But I can be your drinking buddy.”

“You want to drink with me?” Jinyoung asks, eyes widening incredulously. Jackson’s heart clenches a little in his chest at that. He’s always been a sucker for loners, especially the ones who don’t want to be lonely. Besides, it’s not like he’s got anything better to do. He was planning on trying to sneak in another nap, but clearly his skills are needed here. He used to have a pretty good track record at making fast friends, back in his heyday. Admittedly, he hasn’t had much socialization other than Mark lately, and he definitely feels rusty, but being charming has always come naturally to him. He can do this; he can make this stranger’s day just a little bit better, and it’ll be worth the bags under his eyes at work later.

“Well, I can’t actually drink on the job. That will be entirely up to you,” Jackson says, and Jinyoung’s lips twist wryly. “But I know a lot of drinking games. Come on, it’s a lot more exciting than slowly chugging your way to unconsciousness.”

Jinyoung looks wary, but curious. “What about you? You have to have some kind of penalty, too.”

Jackson thinks about that for a moment. He’s finally got Jinyoung focusing on something other than his lack of friends. He has to make it worthwhile enough to keep this going. “Tell you what, I will be gracious enough to allow you to choose my penalty, in the off chance that I actually lose a game.”

“You are very trusting for someone who works in a bar,” Jinyoung says, but he’s smiling, and Jackson can’t help but feel excited. “Deal. What’s the game?”

They start with the games that require hand-eye coordination, because they become less appealing the longer one has been drinking. Jinyoung, despite his slight intoxication, is surprisingly adept, and very smug as he wins the first few games. Jackson is forced to take a shot of pickle juice, announce loudly to the bar that he has hemorrhoids (much to his chagrin, more than one nurse calls out names of prescriptions to cure hemorrhoids), and remove his hoodie, leaving him with two layers left, in case Jinyoung continues that line of punishment. He turns the tide eventually, and Jinyoung winds up taking a few shots before his coordination starts to plummet, and Jackson decides they need a new game.

“Two truths and a lie,” Jackson announces, filling a glass with water and pushing it across the counter, even though Jinyoung hadn’t asked for it. He drinks it without comment, though, and Jackson is pleased. Hydration is important, and based on the way the night is going, Jinyoung’s going to have a tough time when he wakes up after this. “You tell me three things about yourself, two true and one false, and I have to guess which one is false.”

“Are you sure?” Jinyoung asks, and the look in his eyes is downright evil. If it weren’t for the way he’s slightly slurring his words, Jackson would actually be intimidated. “I’m really, really good at this game.”

“Hit me with your best shot,” Jackson says, just as a customer waves to him from the other end of the bar. He goes to serve the nurse, leaving Jinyoung to think of his facts. The crowd in the bar has thinned out significantly since he last looked around. He hasn’t exactly been paying attention to the goings-on in the rest of the room, like he should’ve been. He does a brief sweep of the bar, making sure nothing is spilled or broken, but his eyes keep sliding over to Jinyoung, who’s smiling to himself, lost in thought. It’s ridiculously cute, and Jackson feels his heart going impossibly softer at the sight. When he returns, Jinyoung's face is dimpling with the effort to keep from laughing.

“You are so gonna lose,” Jinyoung says, lips pulling back from his teeth in a wild grin.

“Oh, I seriously doubt that,” Jackson says, leaning his arms against the bar and tilting forward, until he’s close enough that Jinyoung’s eyes widen slightly. Instead of pulling back, though, Jinyoung seems to take it as a challenge (it totally was a challenge; Jackson is very pleased they’re on the same page here) and leans forward, narrowing his eyes with a predatory look, until they’re practically nose to nose. Jackson feels something nervous flip around in his stomach; it’s been a while since he’s outright flirted with someone, and it feels like a lifetime since someone actually flirted back.

“Must you be so close?” Jinyoung asks (rather hypocritically, Jackson thinks), liquor-sour breath puffing across Jackson’s face again. The goosebumps are back, prickling across his bare forearms.

“Oh, yes,” Jackson insists, faux-innocently. “I’m nearsighted and I need to see your face clearly to tell if you’re lying. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“All right, all right,” Jinyoung concedes, but the look in his eyes says he doesn’t believe a word of it. He reaches up with his thumb to swipe slowly over his bottom lip, and Jackson is very, very interested in that. Jinyoung looks up coyly through dark, short lashes. “Are you ready?”

It takes Jackson a moment to find his voice, and then another to make sure it sounds relatively steady. “I was _born ready.”_

“Here goes,” Jinyoung says, and briefly chews his lip, regarding Jackson’s face as though he’s the one gauging expressions, not the other way around. “I have two sisters, I was born in the year of the rooster, and my birthday is in September.”

Jackson pulls back, disappointed. “Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”

“What, too difficult for you?” Jinyoung asks, leaning back as well and crossing his arms over his chest. He’s posturing now, getting a little cocky, and Jackson eats it up. This is a completely different person than the tense, awkward loner that woke him up a few hours ago. It’s a surprise, and Jackson loves surprises. “You could always forfeit.”

“No, I just thought you’d be a little more interesting, that’s all,” Jackson says loftily, taking note of the way Jinyoung’s gaze turns steely. That must be a sore spot.

“We’re only just getting started,” Jinyoung says, voice low in a way that’s probably not meant to make Jackson shiver but definitely does anyways. Jinyoung leans forward again, expression challenging. “We’ll have plenty of time for interesting later. Are you going to guess or not?”

“Okay, okay, hold your horses,” Jackson says, bringing a hand up to scratch thoughtfully at his own stubble. Jinyoung’s face turns completely blank, its absence of expression a strong tactic, one that Jackson is surprised he’s managing to pull off so well in his current state of inebriation. Jackson shrugs, and takes his best guess. “You weren’t born in the year of the rooster. That’s a lie.”

Jinyoung’s careful stillness is disrupted by a slow, displeased twist of his lips. Jackson hoots his success, pumps a fist in the air victoriously, and pours Jinyoung a shot. Jinyoung takes it with a frown.

“How did you know?” Jinyoung coughs after the alcohol goes down. His eyes water a little, and he reaches up to brush a tear away. Jackson is slightly distracted by how pretty his eyes are, even all watery and scrunched up.

“I didn’t. I just guessed.”

“Beginner’s luck,” Jinyoung grumbles, sticking out his lower lip and leaning his face heavily on his fist.

“Call it what you like.” Jackson beams back at him. He’s cute even when he’s pouting, dammit. It’s just not fair. “What year were you born in, then?”

“The year of the dog,” Jinyoung says absentmindedly, taking a gulp of water to chase his shot. Jackson feels something tingly inching up his spine.

“Oh? Me too.”

“Really?” Jinyoung asks, as though he really can’t believe it, and Jackson nods. “Well, that makes us the same age then.”

“Yeah, I guess it does.” A silent moment passes, Jackson watching as something openly assessing appears in Jinyoung’s eyes, as though he’s trying to figure something out. Eventually Jinyoung shakes himself out of it and smiles, and Jackson feels himself relax. “Okay, my turn. I am scared of roller coasters, I’m an English teacher, and I have three kids.”

Jinyoung scoffs, and Jackson feels his heartbeat quicken.

“That’s easy. You don’t have three kids.”

“What? How did you know?” Jackson is torn between being shocked that Jinyoung saw through him so quickly and a little bit nervous about Jinyoung’s attitude toward his actually very real, slightly parental status. Jackson thinks it’s probably not the number of kids that made Jinyoung doubt him.

“You said the last one too quickly,” Jinyoung says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Besides, there’s no way in hell _you_ are a father of three. Take off your shirt.”

“What? No!” Jackson squawks, crossing his arms over his chest protectively. Being overdramatic helps him mask his slight disappointment at Jinyoung’s reaction. Of course someone like Jinyoung doesn’t think he’s father material. That’s almost definitely not what Jinyoung had meant by saying there was no way Jackson is a dad, and on top of that, Jinyoung is rapidly approaching very drunk, but it just confirms to Jackson what he already knew. No one wants to date a guy with kids.

Jinyoung crosses his arms and looks at Jackson expectantly. “You said I get to pick the rules. I’m picking that you have to strip.”

“But… it’s cold in here.”

Jinyoung shoots him a sardonic look, and Jackson sighs. Considering that Jackson has been dabbing napkins at the sheen of sweat on his face for the past hour, Jinyoung probably isn't buying it.

“Fine, but when you fall madly in love with me, just remember that you started it.”

Jinyoung brings a hand up to cover his mouth and laughs, genuinely laughs, a _hyuh-hyuh_ kind of guffaw that makes Jackson feel like he's won the lottery. He joins in with his own embarrassingly high pitched laughter, embarrassment evaporating as his tugs his t-shirt over his head and off. He's still got a tank top on underneath, but there’s plenty of skin on display, and he takes a lot of satisfaction from the way Jinyoung's laugh quickly tapers off. He keeps his hand over his mouth, but his are eyes are no longer crinkled in mirth, but instead open wide with something akin to shock. Jackson holds up an arm and flexes, noting the way Jinyoung's eyes follow the motion, completely rapt. Okay, that's pretty satisfying. The kids can tease him all they want for working out every day, but clearly it pays off.

“It's your turn,” Jackson reminds Jinyoung after a moment, and Jinyoung snaps out of his daze. Jackson surreptitiously crosses his arms over his chest, hoping the heat of his forearms will hide the potentially embarrassing nipple situation that’s currently occurring on his chest. This is _so_ not the time for that.

“I know,” Jinyoung says grumpily, and Jackson is pretty sure he's blushing. He makes a mental note to bake Mark a cake or something because this is the most fun he's had at 5 a.m. in a really, really long time. Jinyoung clears his throat. “Okay. Um, I have a pet dog, I grew up by the ocean, and I've never been in love.”

“Oh,” Jackson says dumbly, trying not to seem taken aback at the sudden serious turn in the game. He puzzles over his choices for a moment. Jinyoung doesn't seem like the type to have a pet, honestly, and he could've grown up just about anywhere. He's fairly certain that the last one is true, judging by the way Jinyoung averted his eyes slightly when he said it. He's probably mortified, and Jackson feels for him, really, he does, but that doesn't mean he’s going to intentionally lose the game, just to save Jinyoung from some minor embarrassment. Especially since Jinyoung seems intent on relieving Jackson of all of his clothes. No, he can’t lose this time. “You don’t have a dog.”

In lieu of confirmation, Jinyoung collapses onto the bar top, groaning. Jackson doesn’t cheer this time, though, just reaches out and pats his arm sympathetically. Jinyoung is definitely drunk. He’s having trouble staying on his bar stool, and his cheeks are flushed bright pink, and his upper body is sprawled across the counter, clearly having lost all sense of dignity. Jackson finds most drunk people obnoxious, but this? This is adorable. Jackson pours him another shot and slides it over. Jinyoung sits up, tosses back the shot, and lays back down on the counter. He doesn’t bother chasing it. Yep, he’s definitely wasted.

“Never been in love, huh?” Jackson asks gently, and Jinyoung groans. “Really never?”

“It just never happened, I guess,” Jinyoung mumbles, staring intently at the wood grain of the bar like he wishes it would swallow him up.

“Never happened? It's not something that just _happens,_ Jinyoung-ssi.”

“Can we save the philosophical discussion for a time when the room isn't spinning?” Jinyoung whines, and Jackson fights the urge to coo at him and ruffle his thick hair.

“Hey, no judgment here, dude,” Jackson says, in a last-ditch attempt to save Jinyoung’s dignity. Jinyoung just makes a tiny unhappy noise and waves a hand in the air, which Jackson takes as his cue to continue. “Okay, next round: I’m from Hong Kong, I have a tattoo, and I am a former Olympic hopeful.”

Jinyoung raises his head a little and squints his eyes at Jackson suspiciously.

“What sport?”

“This isn't twenty questions.”

Jinyoung rolls his eyes. “Fine, that one then. That one is the lie.”

Jackson begins pouring another shot, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

“I can't believe you think I have a _tattoo.”_

“It seemed more likely than hopeful Olympian!” Jinyoung argues. He sticks out his bottom lip in a deliberate pout that is so cute it ought to be registered as a lethal weapon. It must be lethal, if the way Jackson’s heart is racing is any indication. “Besides, you could have tattoos.”

Jackson hold out his bare arms and does a slow turn. “Where?”

Jinyoung’s eyes darken. “There are _lots_ of places tattoos could be.”

Well, _that_ certainly gets Jackson’s attention. He stands there, stunned into stillness for a moment, before Jinyoung’s wicked grin snaps him out of it.

“Your turn,” Jackson announces squeakily, grabbing a rag at random and pretending to scrub diligently at a non-existent spot on the bar top. He hopes Jinyoung is too drunk to notice the blush that’s surely spreading down his neck. Jinyoung huffs a little laugh.

“Okay. Hmm… I have a deep and abiding love for the music of ABBA, and my favorite department to work at in the hospital is pediatrics, and I once ate bull’s testicles and they really weren’t that bad.”

Jackson can’t help but laugh out loud at that, completely taken aback by Jinyoung’s mettle. He wasn’t joking when he said he’s really good at this game. Jackson has no idea which is the lie, and he’s so thoroughly entertained that he doesn’t even care. He ditches the rag and focuses his attention on Jinyoung again, who looks like he’s having trouble keeping his eyes open.

“Hmm. I’m going to guess the first one. You don’t like disco, I can tell.”

 _“Deng!”_ Jinyoung shouts, drawing the attention of a few nearby nurses. Jinyoung leans forward, weaving slightly on his stool, and jabs at finger in the direction of Jackson’s chest. “Take off your shirt!”

“You can’t be serious,” Jackson laughs. Jinyoung doesn’t look like he’s laughing, though. He looks like he’s about to climb over the bar and take Jackson’s shirt off for him. Jackson raises his hands in front of him placatingly. “Okay, okay. I guess I did get you pretty drunk. Fair’s fair.”

Jackson is incredibly glad that the bar is nearly empty as he strips off his tank top and folds it carefully, setting it on his barstool with his other clothes. He takes a deep breath before he looks up and sees every eye in the room trained on him. Jinyoung’s mouth is hanging open, his eyes as wide as saucers.

“Happy?” Jackson asks, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s in decent shape, sure, but not like he used to be. His stomach is still flat, but his six pack is long gone, and his pecs aren’t nearly as defined as they once were. Still, Jinyoung seems to be very impressed, if the way he startles at Jackson’s question is any indication. He closes his mouth with an audible snap, and looks up at Jackson with an awed expression.

“Will you go out with me?” Jinyoung asks. Jackson almost falls flat on his ass.

_“Excuse me?”_

“Will you go out with me?” Jinyoung repeats, face flushed and looking a little wild in the eyes. He leans forward, and if Jackson didn’t know any better, he’d think Jinyoung was begging. “On a date? I want to go on a date with you.”

“I don’t think you really want to date me,” Jackson says, laughing awkwardly after he regains his composure. Jinyoung shakes his head so hard he almost falls off his stool. Jackson reaches out an arm to steady him. “There’s not much about me that’s worth dating, honestly.”

“No! I really do!” Jinyoung insists passionately. He almost looks a little angry, although Jackson doesn’t completely know why. “You’re funny, and you’re nice to me, and you look _incredible.”_ Jinyoung’s voice is getting louder, and people are definitely staring at them. “I should date you. No, you should date me. That’s what I meant.”

Jinyoung stares him down, clearly waiting for an answer, and Jackson feels his stomach turn unpleasantly. Jinyoung seems like a nice person, and he’s certainly easy on the eyes, but Jackson knows he can’t accept his offer. Between two jobs and two kids, he barely has time in his life to see Mark on a regular basis, much less a boyfriend. It wouldn’t be fair to the kids, and it wouldn’t be fair to Jinyoung, and he knows he needs to be a grown-up and turn Jinyoung down.

“I’m sorry,” Jackson says, hating the look of disappointment on Jinyoung’s face. “I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?” Jinyoung asks. He’s disappointed, sure, but he also seems a little bit pissed off, and Jackson supposes he has every right to be. “Are you a felon or something?”

“What? No!” Jackson says, forcing a laugh. Jinyoung narrows his eyes at him, and Jackson sighs. He’s clearly not going to let this go. Time to bring out the big guns. “I have kids.”

Jinyoung looks shocked for a just a moment, and then his face clears into a look of fierce determination.

“That’s _great.”_ Jinyoung pounds his fist on the bar top, making the glasses rattle. He practically glares at Jackson, expression completely contradicting his words. “I _love_ kids.”

“That’s not what I--”

“Hyung!” a loud voice calls, cutting Jackson’s excuse off mid-sentence. Jackson recognizes the speaker as the nurse that Jinyoung had pointed out earlier. He approaches the bar and lays a tentative hand on Jinyoung’s shoulder. Jinyoung wobbles his head around to look up at him, unamused. “It’s almost closing time. I think we should get going.”

“I’m not done here,” Jinyoung insists. He waves a lazy hand at Jackson. “Jackson-ssi, tell him we’re not done yet.”

“I’m going to have to side with your friend on this one,” Jackson admits, tightening his arms over his chest. The young nurse--Youngjae, Jackson remembers suddenly--darts his eyes down Jackson’s naked torso and looks pointedly away, blushing. Jackson clears his throat and reaches for his shirt, pulling it back on despite Jinyoung’s noises of protest. “You’ve had enough to drink, and I need to start closing up.”

“C’mon, hyung, let’s get you home,” Youngjae says, hooking an arm under Jinyoung’s shoulders and hauling him unsteadily to his feet. For what it’s worth, Jinyoung doesn’t fight him, just slumps pathetically against his friend and watches Jackson redress with unfocused eyes. Youngjae nods politely at Jackson, now that he’s clothed again. “Thanks for entertaining him.”

“No problem,” Jackson says, waving goodbye as Youngjae begins the process of dragging Jinyoung to the front door. Jinyoung looks back over Youngjae’s shoulder as they stumble along, and much to Jackson’s continued surprise, he starts singing. In English.

 _“If you change your mind, I’m the first in line,”_ Jinyoung warbles, words only slightly accented and unbelievably perfectly on pitch. Youngjae tries covering up his mouth, to no avail. As they push through the door, Jackson hears Jinyoung keep singing, _“Honey, I’m still free! Take a ch--”_

The door slams shut behind them, and the handful of people left in the bar burst out laughing. After recovering from the shock of what just happened, Jackson joins in the laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. He definitely has to thank Mark for this later.

It’s only once Jackson is driving home an hour later that he realizes that Jinyoung never even tipped him.


	2. I work all night, I work all day, to pay the bills I have to pay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Money, Money, Money" by ABBA

Jackson feels like his head has barely hit the pillow when the sounds of scuffling and raised voices wake him up. He checks the clock on his bedside table and sees that he did, in fact, get three hours of sleep. He’d hoped for four, but beggars can’t be choosers. Jackson yawns and attempts to rub the gritty feeling from his eyes, only succeeding in irritating them more. He weakly kicks his blankets off, trying to get up the will to exit his warm bed and investigate the source of the noise that woke him.

Mornings are hard. Mornings with kids are harder.

Jackson takes a moment to reorient himself to waking life. He’s got work in an hour, and nothing in the house to pack for lunch. He should’ve gone grocery shopping last night, but he’d tried to get a nap in before sneaking out to the bar. At least he’s got a wallet full of tips, more than enough that he can buy lunch while he’s out, but he still needs to go shopping eventually. They can’t live on ramen forever, although he’s sure the boys would love that.

He’d thought he understood when his parents told him about making sacrifices before he’d adopted two kids, but he was wrong. Every day he is a father and a mother and an older brother all rolled up into one, changing his role to suit whatever they need him to be. He wears various hats on a daily basis as well: cook, maid, chauffeur, therapist, nurse, teacher, and, today, referee, apparently, as the sounds that woke him escalate in volume and intensity.

In the end, it’s the realization that the boys are probably already suspicious about his sleeping in that gets him to really wake up. He typically doesn’t sleep in past six, because he likes to get a workout in before the boys wake up, and the fact that he slept in several hours is already going to raise some questions. A loud banging sound is what gets his achy body to actually move, though, swinging out of bed and onto his feet, stumbling momentarily as he shoves his feet into slippers, and shuffling down the short hallway of their small apartment. The bright morning light streaming into their tiny kitchen makes him squint his eyes and rub at them again, but the dry, scratchy feeling of inadequate sleep won’t go away. When he finally gets his eyes open and semi-focused (he forgot his glasses on the bedside table when he got up, but he’s used to operating without clear vision; Yugyeom has threatened more than once to buy him a chain like an old librarian because “what’s the point of having glasses if you keep forgetting to wear them, hyung"), he finds Bambam holding a disgruntled Yugyeom in a headlock. There’s a chair tipped over on its side next to them, which must have been the source of the banging. Jackson rights the chair and gives the boys his best _“that’s enough”_ look. Bambam instantly releases Yugyeom, who squirms away and rubs at his neck, face flushed in embarrassment and agitation.

“What’s all this about?” Jackson asks gruffly, hoping he can pass his sore throat from shouting over the noise at the bar all night as a voice still rough with sleep. Bambam pouts dramatically (his special talent, as the more babyfaced of the two; although Yugyeom can pout with the best of them when he puts his mind to it) and collapses onto a chair, immediately slouching low in his seat. Yugyeom takes the seat across the table, movements jerky and over-pronounced in the signature teenage display of sullen irritation that categorizes the species.

“He used the last of the jam,” Bambam says, pushing his plate of dry toast away and giving Yugyeom a heated look. Yugyeom, whose plate holds a piece of jam-slathered toast, turns from his spot to defend himself.

“He used the last of the hot chocolate mix,” Yugyeom informs, pointing an accusatory finger. Bambam picks up the mug in front of him and slurps at it loudly. Yugyeom starts, as though to lunge across the table, and Bambam chokes on his drink.

“I wonder when you two lost the ability to share?” Jackson asks pointedly, shuffling to the counter and his precious electric kettle. He doesn't expect an answer, and he doesn't get one, but he’s made his point. He's too tired to really delve into a lecture about generosity, anyways. The kettle is already hot from Bambam making hot chocolate, and Jackson almost tears up in gratitude. It’s the little things that make an awful morning just a bit more bearable. He pulls out a mug, humming tunelessly over the deafening silence from the two chastised boys, and fills it with hot water. “There’s plenty of green tea to go around.”

Both boys groan, and Jackson smiles to himself. He opens the cabinet and locates his box of tea, spirits dampening slightly at the sight of a solitary tea bag inside. Maybe there’s not enough tea for everyone... Tea bags can be reused, right?

“We need to go grocery shopping,” Bambam observes. It's a neutral statement, but Jackson can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. They've been eating on a strict budget for months now, to focus on replenishing Jackson’s savings after a particularly expensive repair on the car, and they're all feeling a little starved, figuratively speaking. The hot chocolate had been a Christmas impulse buy, and the boys did a great job making it last this long. Unfortunately, Jackson’s savings are still in the uncomfortably low range, so they aren't in the kind of financial place that warrants hot chocolate without a special occasion. It’ll be a while before they have that around the house again.

“I know,” Jackson says, dropping the tea bag in the cup and turning to face the boys. Bambam is busy tearing his toast into little pieces and glaring at Yugyeom, who takes a big bite of his toast and licks his lips ostentatiously. Jackson takes a seat at the table with his mug, using his free hand to smack Yugyeom lightly on the back of the head. Yugyeom coughs on crumbs, and Bambam laughs. Jackson sighs the world-weary sigh of a parent whose lessons never seem to stick. Has he taught them nothing? Have his long-winded lectures about compassion and generosity gone completely to waste? “I’ll go grocery shopping tonight after work, okay?”

Yugyeom takes a sip of Jackson’s tea to calm his irritated throat. As he slides the mug back, his eyes narrow at Jackson critically. “You look terrible,” he observes.

“Thanks, Gyeom-ah,” Jackson sighs. Apparently his lecture on tact also went unheard.

“No really,” Yugyeom says, soft brown eyes scanning Jackson’s face, expression gradually becoming less suspicious and more concerned. Jackson rubs a hand over his eyes, hoping it hides the dark circles under them enough to pass inspection. Yugyeom tilts his head to the side questioningly. “Didn’t sleep well?”

“Something like that,” Jackson says, averting his eyes. The last thing he needs is a lecture from a fifteen-year-old boy about taking care of himself (especially since Yugyeom’s lectures are surprisingly spot-on these days). Yugyeom’s mature appearance and tough-guy attitude hide a compassionate soul that’s always aware of the feelings of others, always worrying a little bit about the people close to him. Jackson wishes he could take credit for that, but it’s always been a part of Yugyeom, ever since the first day they met, and he feels privileged to get to see it. Unfortunately, it means that Yugyeom is far more observant about Jackson’s mood than will do him any good, especially when he’s trying to keep a secret. He knows perfectly well how hypocritical he’d sound if he told the boys that he missed a night of sleep to bartend, even if it was because he was doing Mark a favor. He wracks his brain for a good change of topic. “Have the results come in yet?”

Both boys visibly deflate.

“No,” Bambam pouts, scratching a fingernail into the wood of the table, abandoning his decimated plate of toast. Jackson has a feeling Bambam will wind up eating ramen for breakfast again as soon as Jackson leaves for work, happily ignoring Jackson’s past lectures about healthy eating and the negative side effects of gratuitous sodium intake.

“Any day now, they said,” Yugyeom adds, shoulders slumped in what can only be described as anticipatory disappointment.

The boys have waited nearly three weeks for news from the top arts high school in Seoul, following their auditions to join the upcoming first year class. As the days wear on, they get less hopeful, and Jackson has been doing his best to keep their spirits up.

“It’ll happen,” Jackson says confidently, despite the nagging doubt in the back of his own mind. Other incoming freshmen might have money and connections on their side, but none are as talented and dedicated and ambitious as these two. Jackson saw that hunger, that all-consuming passion, since the moment they heard about the auditions, and it hadn’t let up until they’d walked out of the audition room, chins held tremulously high in hope. It’s something Jackson hasn’t seen since his own days as a teenage athlete, and it makes him ridiculously proud, even though he had nothing to do with it. He just hopes whatever panel watched their auditions saw that passion in them, and recognized it for the rare thing is. They must have. How could they not? Jackson nods his head resolutely, willing away his own doubts. “Just be patient. I know they’ll accept you.”

“How do _you_ know?” Yugyeom asks, pretending to be tough, but the quaver in his voice gives him away.

“I can feel it,” Jackson says, reaching over to ruffle his hair. Yugyeom whines and squirms away, carefully tousling his hair back into place. Jackson chuckles fondly and finishes off his tea, standing up and heading to the sink. “Don’t just play video games all day, okay?” he says over his shoulder as he cleans his cup. “You’ll rot your brains out.”

“Yeah," both boys chime dutifully.

Jackson rinses the mug, going still as the hot water runs over his hands when the memory of the last time he cleaned dishes strikes him suddenly. His mind drifts for a moment, back to the noisy bar and the handsome man across from him, and he wonders how Jinyoung is faring this morning. He’s probably still asleep, if he knows what’s good for him, but Jackson suspects he’ll be waking soon enough, rousing to the nausea and regret that characteristically follow a night of drinking. Jackson hopes Jinyoung doesn’t regret too much, though; even if the night ended awkwardly, it was fun, and Jackson had been sorely in need of some fun. He only wishes he had been able to take Jinyoung up on his offer of a date, but how was he supposed to explain his real life without making it seem pathetic? He’s not some cool, mysterious bartender with a hidden tattoo. He’s a sleep-deprived working man who spends his days breaking up teenagers fighting over jam. Not exactly chic and sexy.

“Hyung, you’ll burn your hands,” Yugyeom says, appearing next to him suddenly and tugging his reddening hands out from under the now-scalding stream of the faucet. The worried look is back in Yugyeom’s eyes. “Is something wrong? You’re acting weird.”

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m just not awake yet,” Jackson assures, shaking his head to clear away the thoughts of whiskered eye smiles and pouty lips. He turns off the faucet and puts the cup on the dish rack to dry, blatantly ignoring Yugyeom’s assessing gaze. “Bam, weren’t you supposed to clean the bathroom this weekend?”

Jackson turns to see Bambam trying to slip out of the kitchen unnoticed. “Uh…”

“It better be done by the time I get home,” Jackson warns, drying his hands on a towel.

“Fine,” Bambam grumbles. “What about Yugyeom?”

“He did his chores,” Jackson says. Yugyeom sticks his tongue out.

“Fuck off,” Bambam mutters under his breath.

“Language!” Jackson scolds, pointing a stern finger at Bambam. (Who would’ve guessed he’d be the finger-wagging kind of dad? He certainly hadn’t.) “You’re already indebted to the swear jar, do you really want to add more?”

“Blame Uncle Mark,” Bambam says with a shrug, not nearly as repentant as he ought to be. “Besides, you’re not much better. Half that swear jar is from you.”

“Yeah, and the other half is you,” Yugyeom says with a shit-eating grin. “I _never_ swear.”

“Bullshit,” Bambam scoffs. “You just don’t get caught.”

Jackson puts his face in his hands, wondering how things have gotten so out of control. To be honest, he was never really in control to begin with, but… things have definitely declined in recent times. He blames hormones. It’s easier than thinking it’s his own fault for being such a lax disciplinarian.

“Either way, I’m smarter,” Yugyeom crows, and Bambam takes a step back into the kitchen, looking for all the world like he wants to put Yugyeom in another headlock, or worse.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough of that,” Jackson says, stepping between them with his hands out before things escalate. “Whatever happened to being best friends? Whatever happened to our big happy family?”

“He’s being such a brat lately,” Bambam says bitterly. “I can’t be blamed for my actions.”

“I think you two just need a little time apart,” Jackson says, trying to gather his fuzzy thoughts into something coherent. What’s the easiest way to separate the two of them for the day? Clearly they’re only going to be at each other’s throats all day, and until the results of their audition come in, it’s not going to get any better. “Wait here,” Jackson says, and trudges off to his bedroom, already regretting his decision. He retrieves his wallet from the pocket of the jeans he left on the floor of his room, counts out enough bills for a meal and a little extra, and returns to the kitchen, giving the money to Yugyeom. “You go out today. Alone. Clear your head a little. It’s not healthy being cooped up with each other all the time.”

“What? That’s so unfair!” Bambam squawks.

“You can go out tomorrow,” Jackson concedes, squeezing Bambam’s arm consolingly. “You have a bathroom to clean today, remember? Besides, I have a weird feeling if you both go out today, you’ll end up at all the same places and just piss each other off more.”

“Why is all of this in singles?” Yugyeom mumbles absentmindedly, thumbing through the money. Bambam makes an irritated noise and storms off to the room he shares with Yugyeom.

“I gotta go to work,” Jackson says quickly, in lieu of answering. “Get some fresh air, and stop trying to kill each other every time my back is turned.”

“Okay!” Yugyeom agrees, mood clearly elevated with cash in his hand and free reign of the city for a day. Jackson takes the distraction for the free pass it is, and hurries off to get ready for work. By the time he leaves the apartment half an hour later, Yugyeom is long gone, and Bambam has started begrudgingly cleaning the bathroom. For the moment, all is well in their household.

Jackson’s first job of the day, and by far his favorite, is tutoring students in English. Due to the majority of the schools still being on winter break, he only has a few sessions at the cram school to teach. When regular school is in session, he usually spends all morning with the advanced students in a local middle school, and all afternoon at the cram school, mostly teaching high schoolers preparing for their college entrance exams. Although the two jobs are comparable in nature, Jackson prefers the middle schoolers, and finds himself missing his mornings with them. The high schoolers mostly make him sad. They seem so tired and serious for their age. Even though they’re much better students, there’s no joy in their learning. The middle schoolers are rambunctious but eager to learn, and bring him challenging grammar questions and inappropriate slang to decipher. It’s the only time in his life that work doesn’t feel like work.

Unfortunately, tutoring doesn’t pay the massive bills that accrue with raising two teenage boys who eat everything under the sun and ask for more. So his second job, as a caller for a survey company, which he got about a year ago, supplements their food budget nicely. He’s pretty awesome at it, too, if he says so himself. Getting paid to talk on the phone is probably the easiest money he makes, even if his customer service voice scares him sometimes. At first, he would get into deep conversations with all of his customers. When he realized that he gets paid by number of calls completed, not by collective time spent calling, he learned to be detached and professional very quickly.

… Unless, of course, the customer is a sweet old woman who just wants to chat about her son who never calls and his girlfriend who isn’t really that great but she’s just happy he’s happy and did Jackson see the news about the flu outbreak? Terrible, really, and it just goes to show that flu vaccines don’t really work after all and natural remedies work best anyways, and Jackson’s just agreeing with her when his boss pokes his head into Jackson’s station.

“Jackson-ssi,” Wooyoung hisses, and Jackson does his best not to sigh. Wooyoung makes an elaborate “hang up the phone" gesture and jerks his head in the direction of his office. Jackson nods politely, and gets to work making his excuses to the sweet old woman who’s still talking, completely unaware Jackson wasn’t really listening.

After five more minutes disentangling himself from the conversation, Jackson finally hangs up and heads with heavy feet to his boss’s small, glass-enclosed office. He knocks and enters when beckoned. Wooyoung is sitting with his elbows on the foldable table that doubles as his desk, fingers steepled together and body language downright exhausted. The expression he levels at Jackson is distinctly unfriendly.

“We’ve talked about this, Jackson-ssi,” Wooyoung says, clearly too tired to be angry. Jackson can hardly blame him. He’s pretty sure he’s the least productive of Wooyoung’s thirty-some employees, but he’s also the one with the best customer feedback. It’s a puzzle of a combination that never fails to make the vein in Wooyoung’s forehead pulse. He can’t afford to fire Jackson, but he also can’t afford to keep someone so unproductive on the payroll, so they dance around each other constantly, Wooyoung scolding him and Jackson promising to improve. Their conversations sound like a broken record, skipping back just to be replayed verbatim almost immediately.

“I’m sorry,” Jackson says, bowing deeply. He doesn’t really mean it, and both of them know it, but it eases the tension in his boss’s shoulders a little.

“We’re a survey company, not a chat line,” Wooyoung continues, reciting the words Jackson’s heard probably about a dozen times by now. “We only make money when we _complete surveys.”_

“I know, I’ll do better,” Jackson promises, bowing again. He probably won’t do better, honestly, but it’s the thought that counts.

“You haven’t met your quota for the day, not by a long shot. You’re wasting time.”

“I’m sorry,” Jackson says. “I’ll get it done.”

Wooyoung just looks at him, eyes narrowing critically, as though trying to look into Jackson’s brain and see how it works. His cheeks dimple as he chews on his lower lip, and Jackson wonders what those dimples would look like with a smile in between them. In different circumstances, Jackson thinks they might have been friends. If Jackson was five years younger and a hell of a lot less tired, he would have made sure of it. He just doesn’t have the energy for it anymore, and, judging by the bags under his eyes, Wooyoung doesn’t either.

Jackson doesn’t envy Wooyoung his job; by nature, employees of a call center are temporary, only around until they make whatever ends meet that made them desperate enough to do the job in the first place. Jackson is the most senior employee, and he’s only been around for a year. He usually prides himself on his tenacity, but days like this make him wonder just how often his boss wishes he would just quit and free up his phone for someone more efficient.

“You’d better,” Wooyoung says eventually, tone vaguely threatening but without any sincere heat behind it. Wooyoung can’t fire Jackson anymore than Jackson can quit; they both need the money more than they need the uncertainty it would bring. Jackson may be inefficient but he’s reliably so; he clocks in on time, never misses days or calls in sick, and has trained every employee currently working there. Wooyoung knows this, and seems more or less content to wait for Jackson to screw up and give him a reason to fire him. He waves Jackson away, and Jackson bows once more for effect and heads back to his stall, where a never-ending list of phone numbers to dial awaits.

On his drive home that evening, Jackson has trouble keeping his eyes open. A lot of his nightmares lately seem to feature falling asleep at the wheel, which is rapidly becoming a more serious possibility. In his dreams, his car drifts across the traffic lines as he struggles to keep his eyes open, oncoming cars approaching faster than he can swerve out of the way, and he wakes up, sweating and heart racing, just before the cars make impact. Honestly, his car is so old that he’s not even sure the airbags would work in the event of a crash. The heater doesn’t work either, which is just as well because the chattering of his own teeth helps keep him from dozing off at red lights.

He’s dead on his feet by the time he gets home. The apartment is eerily quiet when he steps out of his worn-out loafers and into his house slippers. He tosses his keys into the clay bowl on the hall table that Bambam made for him in art class last year (his explanation upon presenting it to Jackson was “you keep losing your keys and I’m tired of helping you look for them,” but Jackson had been touched all the same). Jackson shuffles down the hall, stifling a jaw-splitting yawn, and heads to the light coming from the kitchen. There he finds Yugyeom and Bambam seated at the kitchen table, looking nothing shy of desolate. Yugyeom sits with his head bowed, eyes staring blankly at the table top, and Bambam is sprawled across the table, head pillowed on his arms as he swipes listlessly at his phone in front of him. Neither look up as Jackson enters.

“What’s wrong?” Jackson asks, heart rate picking up slightly at the sight of them. Bambam sighs loudly, and Yugyeom chews on his lower lip. “The audition results?”

“We didn’t get in,” Bambam grumbles, still not meeting Jackson’s gaze. Jackson feels his stomach drop unpleasantly.

“Neither of you?” Jackson asks, exhaustion mixing with disappointment and settling heavy and thick in his head. He pulls out a chair and takes a seat, as Yugyeom sadly shakes his head.

“Neither of us,” Yugyeom confirms. Jackson isn’t sure whether to be disappointed that neither of them were accepted, or grateful that at least if they failed, they failed together. He can’t imagine the disaster that would’ve ensued if one of them got in and the other didn’t. Nothing destroys a friendship like having a quantifiable way of proving one friend is better than the other.

“That can’t be right,” Jackson says, even though that awful, doubtful little voice in his head is telling him that it could very well be right, and there’s nothing he can do about it. “I’ll call them. They must have gotten the letters mixed up.”

“It was a email, hyung,” Bambam whines, finally raising his gaze from his phone. Despite his tone, his face is expressionless, probably from shock. They must have gotten the news just before Jackson got home. “It’s pretty hard to mess that up.”

“Still, there must be something we can do,” Jackson insists, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’ll call them tomorrow. Maybe you can audition again.”

“It’s JYP,” Yugyeom says carefully, almost like he’s trying not to cry. He still won’t look at Jackson “They don’t _do_ second chances.”

“We won’t know until we try,” Jackson says. He spies Bambam’s phone on the table, the screen still lit up, and reaches for it. “Is that the email? Let me see.”

“Don’t!” Bambam starts, but Jackson is faster, and, thank God, stronger, still, and he manages to wrestle it out of Bambam’s grasp. He brings the phone close enough to read the screen and stops short, noting with confusion that the first word of the email is “Congratulations.” He looks up, and Yugyeom quickly slaps a hand over his smile, eyes disappearing into pleased half-moons. Bambam raises both hands in the air, grinning wildly.

“You got in?” Jackson gasps.

“We got in!” Bambam shrieks. Jackson jolts out of his chair in excitement.

“Both of you?”

“Both of us,” Yugyeom confirms, dropping his hand from his mouth and positively beaming.

Jackson can’t help himself; he squeals, the sound ripping out of him like a caged animal. Bambam joins in, and Yugyeom covers his ears, laughing. Jackson pulls them both out of their chairs and into individual bone-crushing hugs.

“We have to celebrate!” Jackson announces, letting them go momentarily, only to pull them into a group hug together. The boys whine, but half-heartedly, and Jackson knows they secretly love it. He feels his eyes getting a little damp, but hey, he’s tired and this is _such good news._

“Barbecue?” Bambam asks hopefully. Yugyeom looks up, eyes widening in anticipation. They haven’t had barbecue since Jackson got his first paycheck from the call center, more than a year ago.

“Yeah, I can probably swing that,” Jackson says, remembering the rapidly dwindling tips he still has in his wallet. He was going to use the last of money to buy some more extravagant groceries, maybe something a little more exciting than rice and vegetables, but this seems like too good a chance to pass up. It’s a good thing he completely forgot to go to the grocery store after work and came straight home instead.

“We shouldn’t,” Yugyeom says quietly, probably sensing Jackson’s hesitation. He ducks his head and pulls out of the group hug. “It’s too expensive.”

“Fuck it,” Jackson says, releasing Bambam and ruffling Yugyeom’s hair again in the way he knows he hates. He turns on his heel and heads to the front door, leaving the boys to trail behind him. “Let’s go. This is excellent news, and we should celebrate.”

“Really?” Yugyeom asks, as he and Bambam scamper after Jackson like excited puppies. “But the money--"

“You let me worry about the money, okay?” Jackson cuts him off as he swings his coat around his shoulders. Yugyeom hesitates, even as Bambam (never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially after being stuck home all day while his brother got a solo day out on the town) trips over his own feet trying to get his shoes on. Jackson nudges Yugyeom’s shoulder with his own. “Come on. You earned it.”

Yugyeom brightens finally, and, after a bashful nod, hurries to locate his own shoes. After some excited fumbling, everyone gets their coats and shoes on, and the three of them head out to the barbecue restaurant in their neighborhood. The good one, that they only go to on special occasions.

Jackson orders a bottle of soju with dinner, because spending a night in a bar watching everyone enjoying themselves reminded him how long it’s been since he had a drink. After some serious cajoling from the boys, he even lets them have a shot apiece, against his better judgment. It’s fun, and it reminds Jackson how much he’s missed just hanging out with the kids, and how little of it he’s done in recent times. They’re great kids--funny, warm, enthusiastic. They keep him thoroughly entertained in a way that’s easy, thoughtless and effortless, unlike the rest of his hectic life. He’s missed them lately; he’s missed the warm feeling that he gets when it’s just the three of them together, the feeling that reminds him of his parents and his brother, the feeling that whispers of contentment and family.

Between the alcohol and the fatigue, Jackson doesn’t stay coherent long. He didn’t think he drank that much, but the bottle of soju is nearly empty. It’s only after catching Yugyeom attempting to covertly tip the bottle into his can of cola that Jackson realizes they’ve been sneaking drinks when he wasn’t paying attention. He takes the bottle from Yugyeom’s hand and sets it out of reach, watching Yugyeom’s eyes widen in shock and face color with embarrassment. He’s too tired for a lecture, though. They’re teenagers; they’re bound to experiment eventually, and he’d rather they do it where he can keep an eye on them. Jackson vaguely remembers being a teenager once, and he’s pretty sure he was a lot more trouble at their age than they’ve ever given him.

“I’m just so proud of you kids,” Jackson hears himself slurring as he throws an arm around each of their necks and drags them in for a headlock passing as a hug. It’s a testament to the soju that Bambam simply giggles instead of whining and pulling away, like he usually does. Yugyeom, who is always down for a hug, and even more so with a little liquor in him, leans in closer and wraps his arms tightly around Jackson’s waist. Jackson kisses the top of his fluffy head. “So proud. The _proudest.”_

“Thanks, hyung,” Yugyeom mumbles, and Bambam echoes the sentiment, finally having had enough of the hug and attempting to squirm away. Jackson tightens his arm around Bambam’s neck, keeping him trapped, and Bambam squeals.

“I’m proud of you!” Jackson yells in Bambam’s ear, giving him a shake for good measure. A blush is rising high on Bambam’s tan cheeks. “You hear me, Bam?”

“I hear you, I hear you!” Bambam hollers, scrabbling at Jackson’s forearm with thin fingers. “Will you let me go?”

“Never,” Jackson says, dragging Bambam in for a kiss on the cheek that ends up on his eye instead. He lets him go, and Bambam rubs dramatically at his neck, but Jackson notices a small, pleased smile before Bambam turns his head away.

“I think they’re closing,” Yugyeom notes, as waitresses around begin to tip chairs onto clean tables. Jackson hadn’t even noticed the late hour, but by the pointed looks of the waitresses, it’s clear they’ve overstayed their welcome.

“Okay, let’s go,” Jackson says, stumbling to his feet and taking a moment to appreciate the good sense that made him walk to the restaurant instead of drive.

After shushing a hysterically giggling Bambam, Jackson makes his way to the register to settle their bill. It takes him a while to get his wallet out, and even longer to count out the correct number of bills to give the cashier. It’s a lot of bills, okay? And they’re all in small denominations, and their tab was no laughing matter. He should not be judged for wanting to be thorough. As he struggles, the cashier, who Jackson thinks he remembers from previous experiences is the owner of the restaurant, looks at him with a fond smile, her eyes crinkling prettily at the corners. It strikes Jackson as oddly familiar, and he takes a moment to stare at her and try to place where he’s seen that before.

“Did you have a good time with your brothers?” The ajumma asks sweetly, startling Jackson out of his daze.

“Ah, ye--"

“He’s not our brother,” Yugyeom says from somewhere beside and above Jackson (damn kids and their growth spurts). Jackson feels the weight of an arm on top of his head, and looks up to see Yugyeom, flushed and droopy-eyed, using him as an armrest. “He’s our _dad.”_

Jackson squeals at the sappy statement, feeling like he might burst with glee.

The ajumma looks confused. “I could have sworn I heard them calling you hyung--”

“Shh, just let me have this,” Jackson interrupts, probably rather rudely, but he wants to take a moment to beam at his boys. They beam back at him, and Jackson feels so happy that he actually feels a little sick. Actually, that’s probably just the greasy food and the alcohol and the sleep deprivation. But it’s the happiness that counts.

Eventually, he manages to give the correct amount of money to the ajumma, and the three of them spill out onto the street, laughing uncontrollably. They belt pop songs at the tops of their lungs the whole way back, and earn some dirty looks from their neighbors, but Jackson doesn’t care. His boys got into the most prestigious arts school in the country, and he’s going to enjoy it while he can.

Jackson sleeps like the dead that night, waking to his usual six o’clock alarm with a groan. He can hear his phone playing some obnoxious song Bambam downloaded and set as his alarm, knowing perfectly well Jackson didn’t know how to change it, but the phone itself is nowhere to be found. He eventually finds it under his nightstand (how did it get there?) and gets back in bed, giving himself five minutes to wake up fully before getting up to work out.

He flips through his SNS, hardly noticing anymore the typical lack of notifications (parenthood really does kill your social life), and yawns so wide his jaw pops. He checks his email next, noting a couple from parents at his tutoring job about extra hours over the school break, and a bunch of spam about sales and events he’ll never go to. He almost scrolls past an email from JYP, Yugyeom and Bambam’s new school. He opens it excitedly, suddenly remembering the good news. The email is the standard “welcome to our school" spiel, with attachments for things like the academic calendar and the dress code and the lunch menu. He flips through the information, thinking fondly about how excited the kids must be. School starts up again in just two weeks, and they have a lot of work to do before then. Jackson is just considering signing them up for an extra dance class or two in preparation for the start of school when he reaches the last attachment, the bill, and promptly abandons that idea. Tuition for one student is nearly all of his savings. And he has _two_ students.

He does some quick math in his head, and reckons that if he cuts quite a few corners and works out a payment plan with the school, it could work, but just barely. What he really needs is more money, and when he thinks of his wallet, which amazingly still contains cash from only one night at the bar, he gets an idea. A terrible idea, really, but Jackson has never been known for foresight or rational thought, especially so early in the morning. He dials Mark’s number, hoping he’s awake.

“Hey Mark, did you hire a new bartender yet?”


	3. I'm nothing special, in fact I'm a bit of a bore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Thank You for the Music" by ABBA
> 
> Since everybody isn't fully versed in hospital lingo, I thought I'd throw in some info for the curious. THIS IS OPTIONAL, you don't need to know it to understand this chapter.
> 
> Glossary of hospital slang/terms you might not know:  
> peds: (pronounced like PEEDS) short for pediatrics; the department of the hospital that deals with children's medicine  
> unit: an area of the hospital that specializes in a certain kind of medical practice. Typically, units can hold anywhere from 15 to 40 patients, and the nurses who work in that unit have training specific to that patient population (transplant, cardiovascular, cancer, pediatrics, etc.). Nurses usually don't work on more than one unit, so they typically develop a sense of loyalty/family with the co-workers on their unit.  
> RT: shorthand for Respiratory Therapy, a department whose employees visit all units of the hospital to administer breathing treatments and provide consultations on all things related to how patients breathe. While there is usually also a unit just for people with lung problems, typically breathing problems are secondary to some other, more important diagnosis, so patients are admitted to the unit that fits their primary medical concern, and RT just goes all over the place as needed.

Jinyoung is a responsible person. He has a mortgage on his condo that’s halfway paid off. He has six houseplants that he meticulously tends. He has a career plan that will allow him to retire by age sixty and live comfortably until age one hundred (just in case). He eats the appropriate amounts of fruits and vegetables and takes a daily multivitamin and absolutely does not drink himself into oblivion and then coerce bartenders into stripping for him. That is not a thing that responsible people do.

Unfortunately, according to Youngjae, that is exactly what he did. He woke to a pounding headache, the urge to vomit, and four texts from his junior co-worker describing in painful detail exactly what went down at the bar early Monday morning. It’s all a little hazy to Jinyoung; he remembers most of it, thank God, but he doesn’t remember exactly how he came to the conclusion that playing drinking games with the friendly, attractive bartender was anything other than a terrible idea. Jinyoung knows better than to drink with bartenders. They have an obvious agenda: get the customer to buy as many drinks as possible. But something about Jackson made Jinyoung trust him, and Jinyoung cannot for the life of him figure out what it was. He was handsome, certainly, but Jinyoung knows better that to listen to the evolutionary instinct that labels every pretty face as automatically trustworthy. Then again, perhaps he isn’t managing his loneliness as well as he thought.

Luckily, he has two days off of work following his... performance, to recover his body and also his dignity. Also luckily, Youngjae works a week-on, week-off rotation, so Jinyoung has a few days to swallow his shame before he has to face the young nurse who apparently dragged his drunk ass back to his apartment and helped him change out of his scrubs and _tucked him into his bed._ (Jinyoung definitely hadn’t realized they had reached that stage in their friendship. He would’ve done the same for Youngjae without hesitation, of course; he just hadn’t realized the feeling was mutual. It’s a nice feeling.) Unluckily, he still has to live with the fact that somewhere in the world, Jackson is going to remember him as “that lonely alcoholic that made me take off my shirt.” Jinyoung tries to ease the ache of self-inflicted humiliation by reassuring himself that he has probably been remembered as worse, at some point in his awkward past.

The first day, he spends most of it barely conscious, only awake when he sprints to the bathroom to heave up bile and moan against the toilet bowl. He sleeps until seven o’clock in the evening, orders delivery for dinner, eats, showers, and goes back to bed for another ten hours. The second day, he rouses himself to meet his oldest friend, Jaebum, for their ritual Tuesday lunch. He feels much better, albeit still a little shaky and sensitive to light. It’s been years since he’s been so hungover, and clearly his body is not up for the task of processing copious amounts of alcohol like it was in his college days. Of course, that may have something to do with the fact that Jaebum was usually somewhere nearby, begrudgingly nursing Jinyoung back to health after every bender. Hangovers are so much worse living alone.

When Jaebum raises a critical eyebrow at Jinyoung’s dour mood, Jinyoung tells him the basics of the story. Jaebum is, as ever, wildly entertained by Jinyoung’s apparent inability to do anything like a normal person, including drink alcohol.

“Let me get this straight,” Jaebum says, in between massive bites of food (how does he even fit that much in his mouth without choking on it? Or getting serious indigestion? It’s an anomaly), “You went back to the bar with that nurse who keeps trying to be your friend--"

“Youngjae.”

“--you went back to the bar with Youngjae even though you swore up and down that you’d never go again, because the last time was so boring that you fell asleep.”

Jinyoung sighs and rubs his hands over his face, purposely making his next words come out muffled, in the hope that Jaebum won’t actually hear him. “In my defense, he did bribe me with a baby.”

Jaebum does choke a little on his food at that. Jinyoung just smirks at him, too exhausted to properly laugh. Serves him right for taking such big bites.

“He _what?”_ Jaebum gasps, when he regains control of his breathing. His eyebrows disappear beneath his bangs.

“He said if I agreed to go out with him and the other peds nurses, he would let me hold this really cute baby whose parents were out running errands,” Jinyoung says, trying to shrug innocently, even though he knows his face is probably cherry red in embarrassment.

“So what?” Jaebum asks, bewildered. “You said you’d go out drinking with him and he just… gave you a baby?”

“He didn’t _give_ me a baby, hyung,” Jinyoung huffs in exasperation. He shouldn’t have mentioned it in the first place, honestly, but Jaebum knows all his secrets anyway, so it isn’t like it really matters. He would’ve found out eventually. What’s one more drop of humiliation in the Olympic-sized swimming pool that is Jinyoung’s life? “He let me sit in the nurse’s station and feed it, and then I gave it back.”

“That must have been one cute baby,” Jaebum says, shaking his head in disbelief, although Jinyoung likes to think it’s fond in nature.

“It really was,” Jinyoung agrees, melting a little at the memory of it. It was an adorable little girl, only a month old, with this soft downy hair that stuck up in every direction and the tiniest little fingernails and that amazing baby smell that just makes everything better. Totally worth it, for one lousy night at the bar. Well, it would’ve been, if Jinyoung hadn’t ruined everything. “Anyways, I went out with them, and the bartender--"

“The _hot_ bartender,” Jaebum corrects through another full, grinning mouth, and Jinyoung has to fight the urge to smack him upside the head. Sometimes it really is difficult to tell who’s older.

“Yes, the _mildly attractive_ bartender saw I was drinking alone and offered to keep me company.”

“Wait, back up,” Jaebum says, slicing his chopsticks in the air as though to abort Jinyoung’s train of thought. “Why were you drinking alone? I thought you went to the bar with Youngjae.”

“Youngjae was having so much fun with the other nurses, and I don’t know…” Jinyoung trails off, stirring his soup absentmindedly. He shrugs, knowing his excuse is pathetic. “I just don’t fit in with them. We have nothing to talk about.”

Jinyoung always feels awkward going out with Youngjae and the other peds nurses. They’re the only unit that’s ever invited him to the traditional end-of-the-work-week “let’s get wasted and forget all the horrible things we saw” party that Jinyoung knows nearly every unit has. Most of the units end up represented at Raymond’s, the dive bar right across the street from the hospital, but since roles like lab techs and therapists don’t technically have units that they call home, they typically don’t get invited. Youngjae took a liking to Jinyoung from his very first day as a brand-new nurse, when Jinyoung coached him through a six-year-old’s asthma attack, and has pressured him to join their week-end binge nights ever since. It’s been two years and Jinyoung can count on one hand how many he’s attended, but Youngjae still offers every other week. And apparently, he’s gotten tired of Jinyoung rejecting him and has started playing dirty.

“But you have tons in common with the hot bartender,” Jaebum deadpans, and Jinyoung sucks a deep breath in through his nose and tries to access his rapidly draining reservoir of inner calm. Jaebum is his oldest friend, but he’s also very much an older brother figure, and Jaebum takes that responsibility seriously. It typically includes teasing Jinyoung for anything and everything under the sun, and curating an expansive blackmail collection, the purpose of which is still unknown and terrifying to Jinyoung. Jinyoung reciprocates by making Jaebum pay for everything, and calling his mother to tattle on him when he does something stupid.

“He was nice to me, okay?” Jinyoung argues, once he’s found his calm again. He does his best to keep the whine out of his voice, but he’s tired and Jaebum is being an ass and it’s _hard._ “He talked to me, and made me laugh, and when he offered to play drinking games with me, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“The bartender drank with you?” Jaebum asks, eyes widening in surprise.

“Not exactly.” Jinyoung studies his bowl of soup intently to avoid meeting Jaebum’s gaze.

“You played drinking games together, and he didn’t even drink? Oh, Jinyoung-ah.” Jaebum’s tone is pitying, and it makes Jinyoung’s skin crawl. He hasn’t had the best luck in the romance department recently (or at all, ever, in his life) and Jaebum is probably assuming that he was so desperate for attention that he volunteered to drink just to spend time with Jackson. If Jinyoung was being honest with himself, Jaebum isn’t too far off the mark. But Jinyoung isn’t being honest with himself, because fuck that.

“It wasn’t like that,” Jinyoung grumbles, feeling his face flush unpleasantly. “He said he couldn’t drink while he was working, so he let me pick his punishments whenever he lost, instead of drinking.”

“What did you pick?” Jaebum asks, seeming genuinely intrigued.

“Stupid stuff,” Jinyoung says, waving a hand as though to clear away the question.

Jaebum raises an eyebrow. “What did you make him do?”

“I made him take a shot of pickle juice, and tell everyone he had hemorrhoids, and takeoffhisshirt.”

Jaebum leans back in his chair, hand over his chest in overdramatic shock. “Jinyoung-ah! You did _what?”_

“I was drunk, and he was wearing layers, okay?” Jinyoung puts his face in his hands to hide the redness that’s undoubtedly deepening on his cheeks.

Jaebum laughs.“You told the bartender to strip for you, and he actually did it?”

“Yes.”

“Did he run out of layers?”

Jinyoung puts his face on the table. It’s sticky and probably covered in bacteria, but it feels nice and cool on his hot face. Plus it doubles as a way of hiding from his unbearable embarrassment. It’s a win-win, really.

“Yes.”

“He _didn’t,”_ Jaebum gasps like a middle aged housewife, clearly eating this up.

“He did,” Jinyoung groans into the table surface. He raises his head slightly, and Jaebum is smiling so wide Jinyoung can see all of his teeth. He puts his head back on the table. “Does that count as harassment? I think it does.”

“Who cares?” Jaebum asks gleefully. “He did it!”

“Well, anyways, eventually Youngjae came and got me and the bartender put his shirt back on and Youngjae took me home. End of story.”

“So are you gonna go again, if Youngjae asks you?”

“I doubt it.” Jinyoung raises his head finally, considering the question that’s been dancing at the back of his own mind all day. “Thankfully, the bartender said he was only there temporarily, so I don’t think I have to worry about running into him again, but still.”

“You should go again, then,” Jaebum says, suddenly becoming thoughtful. “You really need friends.”

“You’re my friend, hyung,” Jinyoung says, with what he hopes is a winning smile.

Jaebum snorts, and rolls his eyes. “You need to have more than one friend, Jinyoung.”

“There is no empirical evidence to support that claim,” Jinyoung says primly, hoping to divert the conversation from the direction it’s heading. Jaebum has been on a serious mission lately to improve Jinyoung’s social life, very much against Jinyoung’s will. Although he’s single now, Jaebum has had a few steady relationships over the years, and his attention to Jinyoung tends to wane drastically when he’s seeing someone. The last one, which ended badly a couple months ago, just before Christmas, had been particularly hard on Jinyoung, who ended up picking up extra shifts to fill the void of Jaebum’s friendship. He overworked himself and ended up falling asleep at dinner with his parents, news of which, of course, got back to Jaebum almost immediately. Since then, and especially since his break-up, Jaebum has made it his goal to find Jinyoung someone to look out for him, when Jaebum can’t be around. Jinyoung would appreciate the effort more if he didn’t feel a little bit like a kid needing a babysitter, like Jaebum was just looking for someone to hand Jinyoung off to next time he got busy. It would also be nice if Jaebum was a little bit more subtle, but unfortunately tact had never been his strong suit.

“You should go back to the bar,” Jaebum reiterates firmly, completely ignoring Jinyoung’s attempt at a joke. “Even if the hot bartender isn’t there, you can ask around and get his number or something.”

“Did you completely miss the part where I humiliated myself in front of him?” Jinyoung asks, exasperation rising. Jaebum has a dire case of selective hearing when it comes to respecting Jinyoung’s comfort zone. “He’d probably laugh in my face if I showed up there. I don’t want to see him ever again.”

“Yes, you do,” Jaebum says, smirking. “You’re just scared.”

“Wow, whatever will I do without you around to boost my confidence in this way?” Jinyoung snaps, getting angry to hide the sore spot that Jaebum insists on poking. Jaebum’s face softens again, and Jinyoung deflates as quickly as he’d lashed out, shoulders slumping pitifully. He returns to stirring listlessly at his soup, hoping Jaebum will just drop it already.

Jaebum does drop it, and they talk about other things, namely, Jaebum’s preparations for the upcoming semester at the fancy private high school where he teaches music composition and dance. He’s read through some profiles for incoming freshmen, apparently, and seems pretty excited about the new talent. Jinyoung encourages him to keep talking, grateful for the topic change even though he doesn’t care much about the mechanics of Jaebum’s job. He zones out after a while, still achy and tired from the hangover, and eventually Jaebum finishes eating and they exit the restaurant to part ways.

“Face your fears, Jinyoung-ah,” Jaebum says, bringing him in for a hug and clapping him on the back. He pulls back and holds Jinyoung by the shoulders at arm’s length, giving him a shake and an expectant look.

Jinyoung just smiles ruefully. “I’ll think about it.”

 

//

 

The rest of Jinyoung’s week passes uneventfully, not unlike his life as a whole. He works his evening shifts, he waters his plants, he reads the books he checked out from the library. Despite his lack of a social life, time passes quickly, perhaps too much so, especially since he’s dreading the return of a certain co-worker.

When Monday arrives, Jinyoung heads to work with a nervous knot in his stomach. When his first assignment of the day sends him to pediatrics, the knot tightens. He’s had a week to prepare, but he’s definitely not awake enough to handle another inquisition about his lack of a relationship with the hot bartender. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what he gets.

“You got his number at least, didn’t you?” Youngjae asks, startling Jinyoung so bad he drops his pen. When he bends down to pick it up, he notices Youngjae bouncing lightly on his toes. What Jinyoung wouldn’t give to have that kind of energy first thing in the morning. Well, technically it’s two o’clock in the afternoon, but still. It’s morning to him, and that’s what counts.

“Whose number?” Jinyoung grumbles lamely once his pen is retrieved, bending back over the chart he had been scribbling in. He hopes Youngjae chooses to take the hint and mind his own business today. It’s never happened before, but it seems like the perfect time to start.

“The hot bartender!” Youngjae whispers excitedly, nudging Jinyoung’s shoulder with his own. “The one at the bar that was making googly eyes at you all night.”

“I don’t know what you were watching, but that is definitely not what happened,” Jinyoung mutters, deliberately not meeting Youngjae’s gaze. There had been no googly eyes directed at Jinyoung that night, or any night previous, in his entire life thus far. Leave it to Youngjae to accidentally remind him of that. “Trust me when I say he’s not interested.”

“He took off his shirt because you told him to,” Youngjae deadpans, smirking. “I’d say that’s pretty interested.”

“Or pretty narcissistic,” Jinyoung says snidely, even though the words burn dishonestly on his tongue. He’s glad there’s no way that particular bit of venom will ever get back to Jackson. Sweet, trusting Jackson, who humored a drunk, lonely idiot, out of the pure goodness of his heart. Jackson, who let Jinyoung take advantage of him. Jackson, who will probably laugh in Jinyoung’s face if he evers sees him again. Jinyoung hopes that the cosmic entities who have thus far controlled his fate decide to give him a little break and not let that happen.

“Only you could turn the fact that someone is willing to strip for you into a character flaw,” Youngjae says, rolling his eyes. He leans against the counter of the nurses’ station and heaves a loud, overdramatic sigh. “What a shame. You should’ve at least tried to ask him out.”

“What makes you think I didn’t try?” Jinyoung scoffs, clicking his pen shut and sticking it in the breast pocket of his scrubs. It's pretty clear he's not going to get any work done at the moment anyways.

“You did?” Youngjae's eyes are the size of saucers.

Jinyoung summons his best sardonic look. “He took off his shirt because I told him to. I’d be stupid not to try.”

“And? What did he say?”

“He said no,” Jinyoung says, slamming the chart shut. “Surprise, surprise.”

“Oh, hyung,” Youngjae says softly, reaching out to gently pat Jinyoung’s shoulder. One of the strangest things about having known Youngjae since his very first day on the job is watching him grow professionally; a year ago he could recite the textbook definition of “therapeutic touch,” but he was lost when it came to actually practicing it. Little things like seeing Youngjae wearing his scrubs like a second skin, instead of fidgeting with the hem of his shirt every other minute, or watching him interact with his young patients so naturally, make Jinyoung feel an odd sense of pride in his hoobae. Odd, because he in no way contributed to Youngjae’s progress, but sincere nonetheless. It’s moments like these, though, with Youngjae’s entire being oozing sympathy, and his expressive eyes soft and pitying, that Jinyoung remembers that the few years of experience he has on Youngjae haven’t done him any favors.

“Did he tell you why, at least?” Youngjae asks.

“Something about having kids, I guess.”

Youngjae looks as confused as Jinyoung felt. “But you love kids.”

“I know!” Jinyoung groans, thudding his elbows onto the counter and dropping his face into his hands. He really does love kids. It's ironic that a guy who already has kids turned him down for that very reason.

“Maybe he has issues with their mom?” Youngjae ponders. Jinyoung had thought of that as well. He’d also thought that maybe "issues with” meant “still involved with” or, God forbid, “still in love with,” and that had led him down a very negative path of thought. He's loath to revisit it so early in the morning. Afternoon. Whatever.

“Maybe,” Jinyoung sighs, lifting his head up. “Either way, I’ll never see him again. He was only there for the one night, I think. He isn’t even really a bartender.”

“Does that mean you’ll be coming out with us again on Sunday?” Youngjae asks, grinning and poking Jinyoung's sides playfully.

“Excuse my language, but fuck no,” Jinyoung says emphatically, smacking Youngjae's hands away. “I am never doing that again.”

“That's too bad,” Youngjae sighs, looking overly regretful. Jinyoung's just wondering why Youngjae is giving up so easily when he gets an evil glint in his eye. “What if I told you there was a patient in room nine who has identical twin siblings?”

Jinyoung's interest is piqued. He squints at Youngjae. “How old?”

“Almost five.”

“Boys or girls?”

“Boys.”

“Matching outfits?”

“Yep,” Youngjae confirms, already looking smug. Jinyoung’s resolve wavers. Five is his absolute favorite age, and twins? Twins who _match?_ He could really use a little cuteness pick-me-up after being forced to relive his rejection so early in the day. What would one more night at the bar hurt? He’ll have one beer and go home, claiming exhaustion, and that will be that. It’s not like Jackson will be there, anyways. Youngjae seems to sense his weakening resolve, and dangles the carrot. “I mean, I heard my co-worker say they were going to order a respiratory consult for the patient, but I could always call RT and have them send someone else…”

“No, I’ll do it,” Jinyoung says, maybe a bit too quickly. Youngjae grins.

“Come on then, before my co-worker gets back from lunch and realizes we stole her patient.”

 

//

 

Jinyoung wonders why time seems to pass so much more quickly when he’s dreading something. The week passes in a blur of stress and low-key anxiety, and before Jinyoung knows it, it’s Sunday again, and Youngjae is elbowing him excitedly at work, expectant grin nearly splitting his face in two. Jinyoung does his best to smile back, despite the slight nausea that's been plaguing him all day at the thought of returning to the bar. He’s decided make an effort with the nurses, so he can report back to Jaebum that he tried to make friends, at least. Besides, Jackson had said he was a temporary bartender, so he definitely won’t be there. Jinyoung has nothing to worry about, really. It’ll be fine. Probably.

Jinyoung dons a navy blue sweatshirt over his scrub top before they head to the bar, hoping that it’s enough camouflage that people won’t actively avoid him. When he meets the peds nurses in the hospital lobby to leave together, Youngjae sees his sweatshirt and laughs, head tipped back and mouth open wide, and links his arm through Jinyoung’s, patting his hand reassuringly. Perhaps he’s not as subtle as he thought.

As they walk to the bar, the other peds nurses make a genuine attempt to include him in their conversations, and it fails spectacularly. They just have so little in common, but he appreciates the effort all the same. Jinyoung’s never been good at small talk, and the fact that he has no real hobbies, or interest in sports, or any kids of his own to talk about, makes him kind of a dud, conversationally. Still, the nurses try, and Jinyoung finds himself relaxing slightly. With a few drinks in him, this won’t be so bad.

He’s wrong, of course, because karma hates him and his life is an ongoing Greek comedy. When they arrive at Raymond’s, everyone shoves together into the entryway, attempting to get as far away from the cold as possible, and Jinyoung gets jostled in the confusion of everyone taking off their coats and excitedly greeting the nurses from other units who arrived before them. He’s so busy awkwardly attempting to keep himself out of everyone’s way that he doesn’t even get the chance to discretely check who’s serving drinks until his coat is off and the crowd is pressing him toward the bar and it’s too late.

Jackson is there, in all his muscled glory (well, he’s wearing a sweatshirt again but Jinyoung has seen his muscles and knows they’re under there and that’s enough), looking just as handsome and unattainable as Jinyoung remembers him. His back is turned, but Jinyoung would know those shoulders anywhere (he certainly stared at them enough the last time). He laughs at something one of the nurses said to him, a high-pitched giggle that makes a tingle run down Jinyoung’s spine.

“Shit,” Jinyoung hisses, ducking behind Youngjae, even though they’re basically the same size and there’s not much Youngjae can do in the way of keeping him out of sight. Youngjae cranes his neck back to look at Jinyoung, confused, and Jinyoung motions frantically at him to turn around. Youngjae does so, finally notices Jackson, and downright _cackles,_ loud enough that several heads turn in their direction. Jinyoung smacks Youngjae’s back in retribution and sinks further down, looking for an escape route.

“Jinyoung-ssi?” The familiar voice is loud, raised over the commotion in the bar, and Jinyoung freezes. After a moment of panic in which Jinyoung considers actually running away, he straightens and meets Jackson’s gaze. Jackson’s smile lights up his whole face as he waves Jinyoung over. Jinyoung suddenly feels a little weak in the knees.

“Hello, Jackson-ssi,” Jinyoung says awkwardly, approaching the bar casually, as if he hadn’t just been contemplating sprinting from the building. Jackson looks happy to see him, though--ecstatic, even, and the realization makes Jinyoung's pulse pound a little faster in his ears.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Jackson announces, pulling out a fresh glass and filling it with Jinyoung’s favorite beer. (Jinyoung valiantly tries not to read too much into it, but a tiny, happy voice in the back of his head starts chanting _he remembered he remembered!_ ) Jackson finds a coaster and sets the glass on it proudly, and Jinyoung is oddly reminded of a dog bringing back an item it’s been told to fetch. Jinyoung belatedly notices that the top third of the glass is filled with foam, and tries not to laugh. Jackson still hasn’t quite got the hang of pouring a pint, then. He wipes his hands on a towel and motions for Jinyoung to take a drink. “I almost didn’t recognize you without the red!”

“That’s kind of the point,” Jinyoung says quietly, taking a few desperate gulps of his beer and wiping away the foam that coats his upper lip. Jackson watches him intently, and after a moment, understanding breaks over his face.

“Ah, blending in with the enemy. I see,” Jackson says, nodding sagely.

“They’re not the enemy,” Jinyoung says urgently, looking around to see if anyone heard that. He’s mostly being ignored, which is fine by him. Well, it shouldn’t be, he remembers abruptly. He’s supposed to be making an effort to socialize. “I’m trying to befriend them.”

“Good for you!” Jackson exclaims, looking pleased. Jinyoung feels his face warm in embarrassment. Is he really that pathetic, that near-strangers are invested in his social success? Jaebum was right, he does need more friends. Jackson leans against the bar, opening his mouth as though about to strike up a conversation, but calls from customers at the other end of the bar distract him, and he pushes back, looking annoyed. “Sorry, just a minute,” Jackson says as he backs away, and Jinyoung nods. As soon as Jackson’s back is turned, though, Jinyoung takes his drink and beats a hasty retreat.

Rapidly draining the beer in hand, Jinyoung stalks the perimeter of the room, looking for Youngjae, that disloyal sneak. He finds him at the dart boards, already caught up in a game with a bunch of other nurses. Jinyoung waits until it’s Youngjae’s turn to throw and comes up behind him, pushing his shoulder just before the dart leaves his fingers. He misses the board entirely and turns, looking irritated, only to see Jinyoung and break into a grin instead.

“So? What did he say?” Youngjae asks excitedly, tugging Jinyoung out of the way so the other nurses can continue playing.

“He said, ‘I can’t believe your friend just abandoned you like that, how rude of him,’” Jinyoung snarks, downing the rest of his beer. Youngjae looks cowed, at least.

“I was trying to give you space, to… _you know…”_ Youngjae nudges Jinyoung’s elbow with his own, smiling conspiratorially. Jinyoung backs away, rubbing his elbow and frowning.

“No, I don’t know,” Jinyoung insists. “He said he was a temporary bartender. I wouldn’t have come if I’d known he would be here.”

“But he _is_ here,” Youngjae says, closing the distance between them to jab Jinyoung with his elbow again. Jinyoung briefly worries that he’ll be bruised tomorrow. “It’s fate, hyung. You have to talk to him.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Jinyoung grumbles, and Youngjae looks frustrated at last. He stares at Jinyoung critically for a moment, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s just opening his mouth, probably to give Jinyoung a lecture on taking chances and getting out of comfort zones, when he seems to notice something just behind Jinyoung’s shoulder, and his eyes widen. Jinyoung feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns to see Jackson, standing next to him and looking unhappy.

“What are you doing over here?” Jackson asks, looking back and forth between Jinyoung and the peds nurses, most of whom are suddenly very interested in what’s going on. (Jinyoung isn't surprised. He's learned that drama is like nurse Gatorade. It replenishes their electrolytes.)

“I’m being sociable,” Jinyoung explains dumbly, wondering if Jackson missed that part back at the bar or just ignored it. Is he imagining things, or does Jackson look kind of annoyed? Maybe a customer pissed him off. He clears his throat, and tries explaining again. “My hyung says I need to make more friends, so--”

“I’ll be your friend, then,” Jackson interrupts suddenly, waving a hand in the air as though to bat away Jinyoung’s explanation. “Will that satisfy your hyung?” Jinyoung nods slowly, not intoxicated enough to fully believe this but not thinking clearly enough to be properly suspicious. Jackson grabs Jinyoung by the hand. “Good, let’s go.”

Jackson drags Jinyoung through the crowded room and deposits him at the same stool at the end of the bar that he had occupied two weeks ago. Jackson ducks back behind the bar, and Jinyoung feels a little bit better, with a meter of solid wood between them. It makes it easier to keep his hands to himself.

“Why did you run away?” Jackson asks, as Jinyoung climbs onto the barstool. He still looks slightly annoyed, which Jinyoung is having trouble figuring out. It almost seems like he's mad at Jinyoung, but Jinyoung can't for the life of him figure out why. Well, he can think of a lot of reasons why, but Jackson had seemed genuinely happy to see initially, so his sudden change in mood doesn't really make sense.

“I didn’t run away,” Jinyoung protests, except that's exactly what he did and he's definitely lying. He slides his empty beer glass back across the bar for a refill. Jackson takes it and slides back a glass of water instead. Jinyoung takes it and sips the water grumpily. He did finish that first beer rather quickly, he supposes. Clearly Jackson isn't looking for a repeat of their first evening together. Message received. “I really was just trying to socialize.”

“Oh,” Jackson says simply, face clearing. He refills Jinyoung’s beer anyways, almost as if he was waiting for Jinyoung to give him a good enough reason to do so, and gives it back to him. This one has no foam on it whatsoever and is filled all the way to the brim, sloshing over the sides as Jackson sets in on another coaster. He just can’t get it right, can he? Jackson folds his arms on the bar top and leans forward, gaze canted down guiltily. “You can go back if you want. I won’t keep you from making friends.”

“It’s all right, I didn’t really want to anyways,” Jinyoung says wryly. He looks at Jackson, who’s chewing his lower lip thoughtfully, and wonders--why is Jackson being nice to him again? Is it a pity thing this time? Does he think Jinyoung is a joke? Is he hoping for another entertaining evening of Jinyoung drinking himself into oblivion? The glass of water Jackson gave him says otherwise, but Jinyoung doesn’t trust it. Does he just want the money? He has ties with the owner somehow; he could be personally profiting from Jinyoung’s foolishness.

“How have you been?” Jackson asks eventually, when it becomes clear Jinyoung isn’t planning on expanding his statement. Jackson tilts his head to the side, round eyes curious, and Jinyoung is once again reminded of a dog. “How was your hangover? Not too bad, I hope.”

“I’ve had worse,” Jinyoung says with a shrug, playing it cool, despite his complete and utter bullshit. It took him three days to fully recover, but Jackson doesn't need to know that. He taps a pattern with his fingers on his water glass, focusing on that instead of meeting Jackson’s intense gaze. He heaves a deep sigh, and figures now is as good a time as any to apologize for his behavior. “I’m really sorry about that, by the way. I was out of line.”

“Are you kidding me?” Jackson laughs, and Jinyoung looks up to see him grinning again. His smile is blindingly bright, all prominent upper teeth and round cheeks that makes him look much younger than he is. Jinyoung feels himself softening a little, just as quickly drawn in by Jackson’s easy cheerfulness as he was the first time. “That was the most fun I’ve had in months. I wanted to thank you.”

“What?” Jinyoung asks, incredulous. Jackson had fun? That’s not possible. “But I was awful. I made you take off your clothes!”

“I made you drunk,” Jackson says with a good-natured shrug. “It was only fair.”

“Seriously?” Jinyoung sputters, bewildered. “I thought you’d hate me after that.”

“Nah, I’ve done worse things drunk,” Jackson winks at him, and Jinyoung coughs on his sip of beer, face heating so quickly he's shocked his skin doesn't just peel right off and float away. Jackson picks at his fingernail for a moment, then looks up at Jinyoung through long eyelashes. It’s definitely a ploy, and Jinyoung is falling for it hook, line, and sinker. He’s in so far over his head. “You’re not mad at me, though?”

“Why would I be mad at you?” This conversation is not going at all the way Jinyoung thought it would.

Jackson's brow wrinkles, as he looks at Jinyoung like he's questioning his sanity. It's adorable. “I turned you down, when you asked me out.”

“Oh,” Jinyoung says dumbly, having completely forgotten he’d even done that. “I didn’t actually think you’d say yes.”

“I would have, really, but I just didn’t think it would be fair to you,” Jackson says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Jinyoung doesn’t know how to tell him that he really doesn’t have to explain himself; he wasn’t kidding when he said he didn’t think Jackson would actually accept. Jackson keeps talking though, like he can’t figure out how to stop, so Jinyoung lets him get it out of his system. “I already work two jobs, and now I'm picking up hours here when I can, and between this and trying to keep up with my kids, now that they're back in school, I just don't think I'd have time. You deserve someone who can give you a lot of time and attention, and that's not me, unfortunately.”

“It's okay, Jackson-ssi,” Jinyoung says softly, because it really is. He wasn't expecting anything from Jackson at all in terms of an explanation, but now that he's heard it, Jinyoung's heart clenches painfully. Looking at him more closely, Jinyoung can see the bags under his eyes, the beginnings of wrinkles on his forehead. Clearly Jackson has a lot going on in his life, and yet he took the time to apologize for not being able to fit in even more. Still, Jinyoung sees the opportunity to get some answers to questions that he never thought he'd get to ask, so, like the nosy asshole he is, he takes it. “So, your kids… Are they with their mom right now?”

Jackson looks baffled. “They don't have a mom.”

Jinyoung doesn't exactly know how to respond to that. On one hand, he's happy Jackson isn't attached, but on the other, typically kids who don't have moms got that way because of something tragic. He chooses a different line of questioning altogether.

“Who's watching them right now then?”

“Oh,” Jackson says, relaxing slightly, as though he thinks that's what Jinyoung was really worried about. He waves a hand in the air. “They're teenagers. They basically watch themselves.”

Teenagers? Jinyoung does some quick math in his head. Even if the kids were only thirteen, Jackson still would've had to have had them very young. Like… as a teenager himself. He's just starting to puzzle over this when Jackson seems to follow his train of thought, and his eyes widen.

“They're not actually my kids,” Jackson explains quickly, waving his frantically hands in front of him. “Well, in the technical, legal sense, yes they are, but I'm not their father.” Jackson’s ears are slightly pinker than Jinyoung remembers, and he looks flustered, like he’s struggling to find the right words. It’s a good look on him. “I didn't have sex with--I didn't provide the--”

“They're not your biological children,” Jinyoung interrupts, saving Jackson from continuing to dig his own grave.

“Yes, thank you,” Jackson says, shoulders sagging in relief. “I'm their legal guardian. I adopted them a few years ago.”

“Oh,” Jinyoung says dumbly, after a moment of shock. Questions flood his mind. Jackson adopted kids? Doesn't that cost a lot of money? Why is he working multiple jobs if he already has money? Did adopting the kids bankrupt him? How many kids does he have, exactly? Why did he decide to adopt them in the first place?

“Well anyways, that’s why I turned you down,” Jackson says, when Jinyoung doesn’t say anything else. His eyes are big and dark and earnest, when Jinyoung meets his gaze. “I really wish I could have said yes, though.”

Jinyoung’s heart starts up an unsteady rhythm, thumping so loudly in his ears that he has trouble focusing. He looks down at his hands, hoping to hide the furious blush that’s heating his face. Jackson wanted to say yes? Jackson is interested in him? He feels dizzy almost, and a little nauseous, and he takes a moment to collect himself. Of course the first person to show interest in him in years is a sweetheart single dad who is too busy to date because he thinks Jinyoung deserves better. Surely, Jinyoung must be dreaming. He surreptitiously pinches the back of his hand, and, ow, nope, he’s definitely awake.

“Thank you,” Jinyoung says, clearing his throat. He looks up, and Jackson is watching him with soft, thoughtful eyes. Jinyoung straightens up and tries to seem dignified, even though he’s disappointed and a little bit in love with this guy already. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“So,” Jackson says, clapping his hands sharply twice, clearly signifying the end of the tender moment. His expression is back to being bright and playful, and Jinyoung feels relief unclench the muscles in his shoulders. “What game are we going to play today?”

Jinyoung makes a face. “I may have lied a little bit when I said my hangover wasn’t bad last time. I really don’t want to do that again, sorry.”

Jackson laughs, his endearingly high pitched cackle that shouldn’t suit him at all but totally does. Jinyoung tries not to visibly melt at the sound.

“No more hangovers for you, got it,” Jackson says, grabbing Jinyoung’s glass of water and refilling it. He slides the glass back, and leans against the counter, looking thoughtful. “We could play games that don’t have penalties? What about twenty questions? I’m sure you’re full of them.”

“I think you’re the one with the questions, Jackson-ssi,” Jinyoung says with false bravado, even though he’s sure Jackson can see right through him. They’re back to their easygoing, taunting dynamic, and Jinyoung feels lighter than he has in two weeks. It’s fun, talking to Jackson, teasing and making jokes, and it doesn’t have to lead to anything. That’s what Jinyoung tells himself, at least. He’s sure Jackson will feature prominently in his daydreams for weeks to come, but that’s between Jinyoung and his hopelessly romantic brain.

Jinyoung stays all the way till bar close again, long after Youngjae and the peds nurses have gone home. He and Jackson just talk, and even without alcohol it’s easy, in a way Jinyoung has never experienced, apart from Jaebum. Jackson is a natural conversationalist, and he fills the gaps where Jinyoung’s brain draws a blank on what to say next. They balance each other out, weirdly enough, and Jinyoung doesn’t feel like he’s been there all night, by the time Jackson shoos the last of the bar patrons out. Jinyoung offers to stay and help close up, and Jackson lets him, and they put chairs on tables and sweep and put clean glasses away in companionable silence.

When they finally head outside, the sun is up, and Jinyoung holds a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. After his eyes adjust, he notices Jackson watching him, squinting in the bright light, looking like he wants to say something.

“So,” Jackson says. He shuffles from foot to foot, probably because of the cold, not nerves, like Jinyoung is feeling.

“So,” Jinyoung repeats, and can’t keep the smile off of his face. Even with bags under his eyes and stubble darkening his upper lip, Jackson is gorgeous. Jackson is gorgeous, and he’s looking at Jinyoung like he doesn’t want to leave, and it all feels like something out of a drama.

“So I’ll see you again next Sunday?” Jackson asks finally, words rushing out quickly like he’s afraid he’ll lose his nerve.

Jinyoung grins. His heart feels a little bit like it’s going to burst in his chest, but in the best possible way.

“Next Sunday.”


	4. Tell me please, 'cause I have to know; I'm a bashful child, beginning to grow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "The Name of the Game" by ABBA

If there's one thing Yugyeom hates more than anything in the world, it's his adopted brother Bambam.

… Well, that's not entirely true. He actually kind of likes Bambam. Fine, he _loves_ Bambam. He would probably die for Bambam. The opportunity hasn't really come up, but yeah, he's pretty sure he would die for Bambam. Like… eighty-five percent sure.

But don't tell Bambam that. For the love of God, _don’t tell him that._ He would be such a pain in the ass if he knew.

He’s already been a pain in the ass a lot more than usual, lately, and Yugyeom doesn’t think he can handle any more without doing something that would get him grounded for life. He knows it’s because they’ve both been tense about the JYP audition--somewhat about the possibility of one of them getting in and the other not, but mostly about what it would be like if they actually _got in,_ which no one but Jackson expected to happen, apparently.

Oh, Jackson. The source of their happiness, and yet the root of their dilemma.

“So, your plan failed completely,” Bambam says obnoxiously, plopping onto the couch next to Yugyeom the morning after their celebration, after Jackson got the news and practically burst with joy and pride and soju. Yugyeom is aware that his plan failed, thank you very much, but just the way Bambam _says_ it, like he expected nothing less, makes Yugyeom want to stick Bambam’s head in the recently cleaned toilet bowl and flush.

“At least I had a plan,” Yugyeom mutters instead, because Jackson would be disappointed if he gave his own brother a swirly, no matter how much he deserves it. Besides, he just sat down with the bowl of ramen he made for breakfast (hey, it’s closer to noon anyways and they forgot to go grocery shopping last night in all the excitement and shut up, he’s allowed to have ramen for breakfast, okay, it’s not against the _law),_ and they're in the living room, so the bathroom is, like, twenty whole steps away. Not even sweet vengeance is worth that much effort. Instead, he shoves out a foot and kicks Bambam off the couch and watches as he falls to the ground with a satisfying squeak. Bambam makes a rude gesture. Yugyeom sticks his tongue out. “Your idea was to just tell him that we know about the money and hope everything works out.”

Bambam scowls at that, hauling himself off the floor and back onto the couch, carefully out of Yugyeom’s reach this time. It had been Bambam’s idea to hack Jackson’s email immediately after getting their acceptance letters, after all, and that’s the only reason they know that the tuition for their dream school is like, ridiculously high. Neither of them had really considered the cost before then, but now the sight of the number listed under “Total Balance Due” (which had so many zeros that Yugyeom couldn’t believe it wasn’t a typo) is burned into both of their minds.

Bambam had thought maybe Jackson was holding out on them since getting the car fixed. He thought that Jackson probably still had some money from his settlement that he saved for important stuff like this, because Jackson is nothing if not a miser with his money, and he could use that to pay the tuition. Yugyeom had reminded him that Jackson had started turning a blind eye when they ate ramen instead of insisting they eat (expensive) healthy food, and that when Jackson bought them hot chocolate as a Christmas surprise, they were _actually surprised,_ which would never have happened a year ago. Even Bambam had to admit that the money is probably gone.

“So what? We said we’d try to fake him out, and if he bought it, we wouldn’t go,” Bambam says, shrugging unhelpfully. He steals the TV remote from under Yugyeom’s thigh and changes the channel. “He didn’t buy it. That means we go.”

“I know,” Yugyeom says unhappily. That had been his master plan; they’d lie to Jackson and pretend they were rejected, and if he believed it, they just wouldn’t go to school at JYP, no matter how much they wanted to. Of course, Jackson, the eternal optimist, hadn’t taken no for an answer (who were they kidding, really, of course he wouldn’t take no for an answer, he’s _Jackson),_ and they’d had to admit that they were, in fact, accepted. Yugyeom wishes he could let it go as easy as that, but his conscience is teaming up with his anxiety and making his stomach feel sour at the thought of just pretending everything is fine even as they bleed Jackson dry. Jackson can’t possibly work any more than he is already working and stay sane, but they need money. A _lot_ of money. Yugyeom sets aside his ramen, suddenly not hungry anymore. “Maybe we can get part time jobs?”

“You know he’d kill us if he found out,” Bambam says, stealing the ramen and slurping noodles loudly. It’s true, one of Jackson’s primary rules is that school comes first, and nothing, not even a little extra spending money, is worth risking their grades over.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him?” Yugyeom guesses, wincing. “Or us.”

“Why don’t we just ask Uncle Mark?” Bambam asks, mouth full of ramen. His chin is wet with broth and he looks like a slob. Yugyeom resists the urge to kick him again, since he’d probably spill the bowl and then Yugyeom would have to clean it up. As Bambam swallows, Yugyeom wishes he had a sister instead. That’d be nice. “I’m pretty sure he’s loaded.”

“Jackson would kill us over getting part-time jobs, but he’d be okay with taking money from Uncle Mark? Right,” Yugyeom snarks. Bambam can be so dense sometimes. Above all else, he’s practical, though, which Yugyeom can’t always claim for himself. Asking Mark for money would be the easiest answer to their problems. If only Jackson wasn’t so damn proud. If only their dream school wasn’t so damn expensive in the first place.

“I still don’t think it’s that big of a deal,” Bambam argues. He’s found a show he’s interested in on TV and is staring at the screen, not even paying attention to Yugyeom anymore. “He’d tell us if things were that bad, right? He’d just tell us he can’t afford it.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Yugyeom agrees, even though worry is still tying his stomach in knots. In the past, Jackson has been nothing but completely honest about things, even to the point of giving too much information. Still, Jackson’s been acting kind of weird the past few days. And not just standard Jackson-weird. Like, weird even for him. It’s unsettling.

“Whatever. If it’s a problem, we’ll deal with it. It’s not a problem yet, so let’s just forget about it.”

Bambam is right. Yugyeom tries his best to forget about it.

 

//

 

It becomes a problem less than a week later.

In hindsight, Yugyeom really should have seen that coming.

Jackson has the morning off of work and decides that now is as good a time as any to get their uniforms. They bundle up and head out to the store, Jackson singing some English song at the top of his lungs as he drives. He would seem particularly energetic to a stranger, but Yugyeom notices the bags under Jackson’s eyes and the patches of stubble on his neck that he missed shaving and knows better. Besides, he keeps stopping mid-melody to succumb to jaw-cracking yawns. Yugyeom almost wants to scold him for thinking he’s getting away with acting like nothing is wrong. He’s just doing such a bad job.

“Can’t we listen to the radio?” Bambam whines, looking out the window as they drive. “What are you even singing?”

“Only the greatest disco music the world has ever heard,” Jackson replies, faux-pretentiously.

Bambam snorts. “Since when do you like disco? You weren’t even alive when it happened.”

“It’s called music appreciation Bam, and you should try it,” Jackson scolds. Bambam turns the radio on anyways.

When they get to the store, Jackson heads straight for the sales counter, leans an elbow on the countertop, gives the clerk a winning smile, and loudly asks where the keep the JYP uniforms. The clerk points them out without looking up from her phone. Jackson deflates slightly and heaves a weary sigh. Yugyeom knows Jackson was trying to wow the clerk so he could brag about his talented kids again, and there’s nothing he hates more than being ignored. Secretly, Yugyeom thinks Jackson’s need for attention from strangers is kind of cute; he’s like a puppy who just wants belly rubs and to be told he’s a good boy. Yugyeom hides a smile behind his hand as Jackson regains his cheery composure and leads the way to the uniforms, practically skipping as he goes. Definitely puppy-like.

That’s when things get problematic.

Turns out the JYP uniforms are just as expensive as _everything else about the goddamn school._ Yugyeom watches as Jackson discreetly checks a price tag and widens his eyes in shock. He makes some lame excuse about having a question about dress socks and heads back to the front, where he leans across the counter again and talks to the clerk in hushed tones. Yugyeom checks the price tag himself. One uniform set costs more than they spend on groceries in a whole month. And they need _two._

Before Yugyeom can draw Bambam’s attention to the tag, Jackson is back, expression a little tighter around the eyes but still smiling. He helps them find their sizes and shoves them into the dressing stalls to try them on.

When Yugyeom finally gets the uniform on, even he has to admit, he looks good. The cost of the uniform shows in the cut of it and the weight of the material; it’s such a difference from his now-dingy middle school uniform that they aren’t even on the same plane of existence. His brain takes a brief detour from “this is too expensive” and swerves to “I look really good, fuck yeah” and he’s having trouble bringing his focus back. Especially when he steps out to show it off and Jackson practically shrieks in delight. Bambam emerges next, and they strut an imaginary catwalk for Jackson, who cheers loudly at every pose. Yugyeom’s face feels hot, but in a good way. He’s kind of glad they’re the only ones in the store, though.

“It’s really expensive, hyung,” Yugyeom says quietly, as their fashion show winds down. Bambam is busy looking through shoes, leaving Yugyeom to do the hard part alone. He clears his throat and fingers the cuff of the starchy dress shirt nervously. “Are you sure we can afford this?”

“Yugyeom-ah,” Jackson says solemnly, face dropping into a serious expression. He grips Yugyeom tightly by the shoulders and looks up at him. Yugyeom gets a sharp pang of the confusing mixture of proud and sad that he always gets when he remembers that he’s already taller than Jackson. “I need to you to promise me something.”

Yugyeom’s stomach clenches nervously. “Yeah?”

Jackson’s hands come up to cup Yugyeom’s cheeks. His big brown eyes look pleading. “Please don’t grow any more until you graduate.”

Yugyeom laughs, head swimming with relief. “I’ll try, hyung.”

Jackson pulls him in for a hug and reaches up to pat his hair fondly. “That’s all I ask.”

Bambam makes an irritated noise. “What about me?”

“Bam!” Jackson coos, releasing Yugyeom and pulling Bambam into a smothering embrace. As Jackson smushes their cheeks together, Bambam looks about as happy as a cat that got left out in the rain. “You’re perfect just the size you are, too.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Bambam grumbles, and Yugyeom snickers and reaches out to pat Bambam on the top of his head.

It’s not until they’ve already bought the uniforms and are driving home, Jackson singing his English song loudly over the sound of the radio (to Bambam’s great irritation), that Yugyeom realizes Jackson never actually answered the question about whether or not they could afford the uniforms.

 

//

 

They spend the last few days of their time off doing absolutely nothing on principle, with breaks for learning the point dances for all the latest idol group comebacks. Yugyeom’s favorites are the sexy boy group dances, never mind that Bambam bites his lip like he’s trying not to laugh every time Yugyeom attempts a body roll. He’s just jealous that Yugyeom shot up ten centimeters in the last year, while Bambam barely grew at all. Sure, maybe Yugyeom’s rapidly changing center of gravity sometimes makes him look a little more gangly than sexy, but at least he’s lost most of the baby fat from his cheeks, unlike someone else.

Besides, Bambam embraces his cute look and general control over all of his limbs and puts them to work being stupidly good at girl group dances. Yugyeom just feels awkward when he tries those, and based on Bambam’s smirks, he looks awkward, too, but he does it anyway, for the practice. Dance is all about getting out of your comfort zone, and he is definitely uncomfortable twisting his hips to the latest AOA song. Still, for all his smug looks, Bambam is a good teacher, and he knows just how to explain things in a way that Yugyeom understands. Before long Yugyeom’s got the whole song down pat, much to Bambam’s amusement. Even though the last few weeks have been tense between them, they still work well together. They always have, ever since the first day they met.

As the first day of school approaches, Yugyeom finds his anxiety increasing. Doubts dominate his every waking moment, until he can’t focus on anything for more than a few minutes at a time. What if all the other kids are way more advanced than he is? What if they’re all already friends and he and Bambam get shunned or bullied or worse? What if the teachers are mean, what if the classes are too hard, what if he does something embarrassing like trip over his own feet in the hall or say the wrong answer when called on in class? Even Bambam’s attempts to keep him distracted with new episodes of his current drama obsession don’t work; he watches the same episode three times through without retaining any of the plot and gives up.

It doesn’t help that Jackson, whenever he’s actually home, seems to be just as mentally checked out as Yugyeom. He spends most of his time sitting around, eyes going unfocused every few minutes like his thoughts are far away. He trails off in the middle of sentences, and goes to bed by seven thirty. If Yugyeom wasn’t already so stressed about school, he would be seriously worried. But he has more important things to think about, like which of his two pairs of sneakers he should bring to wear in dance class.

The first day of school goes terribly. He’s twenty minutes late somehow, and all his teachers seem to hate him, and he can’t find Bambam anywhere even though he swears they were enrolled in all the same classes. All the girls in his grade snicker behind their hands when he walks past, and he gets flustered and makes a wrong turn and ends up in the basement of the school and gets locked down there, pounding on the door and screaming until his throat is raw and--

Yugyeom wakes with a start, panting and sweating. He sits up and looks around, pulse pounding in his ears, and tries to control his breathing. Bambam is asleep in his bed across the room, snoring lightly with his eyelids open just a crack so that Yugyeom can see the whites of them even in the dark. (Yugyeom often takes reassurance in the fact that although Bambam is technically the cuter of the two of them, at least Yugyeom looks better sleeping.) The clock on his bedside table reads 3:28 a.m. The first day of school is still a whole day away.

Despite the realization that there’s no way his first day of school could actually go that terribly, Yugyeom feels unsettled. His thoughts keep him awake, cycling through every possible scenario in which he could end up locked in a basement. The minutes drag by, and he gets no closer to falling back asleep. After an hour, he drags himself out of bed.

He trudges to Jackson’s room, half-heartedly wondering if it’s babyish to ask to sleep with his hyung just this once, even though he knows Jackson would never say anything, even if it was. Silence meets him when he knocks on the closed door, however, so Yugyeom quietly turns the handle and cracks the door open, peering into the darkness. Jackson’s bed is empty, blankets pushed aside like he left recently, but when Yugyeom feels the sheets, they’re already cold. Maybe Jackson can’t sleep either, Yugyeom thinks, and heads back out of his room to find him. Usually when Yugyeom has nightmares, Jackson makes him a cup of tea and they sit at the kitchen table and talk, until Yugyeom’s mind settles enough that he can go back to sleep. The kitchen is empty, though, as is the living room, and the bathroom. Jackson is nowhere to be found.

“Bambam, wake up,” Yugyeom says, back in their shared room and shaking Bambam’s shoulder urgently. Bambam groans and flails an arm out, smacking Yugyeom across the face in a way that’s too accurate to be completely accidental. Yugyeom pulls Bambam’s blankets off his bed and dumps them on the floor.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Bambam whines, curling in on himself until he’s just a ball on the mattress. “It’s the middle of the night, leave me alone.”

“Jackson-hyung is gone.”

Bambam’s head pops up at that, eyes blinking blearily. His voice is sleepy and confused. “Wait, what?”

“Jackson-hyung is gone. He’s not in the apartment and I don’t know where he went,” Yugyeom lets a little bit of his anxiety creep into his voice. Bambam sits up, rubbing at his face.

“What time is it?”

“Almost five.”

“Did you call him?”

Yugyeom pauses at that. He’d been so freaked out, he hadn’t even thought of calling Jackson.

“No.”

Bambam grabs his phone from the table next to his bed and taps at it, wincing when the screen lights up and shines brightly in his eyes. He holds the phone up to his ear, and Yugyeom can hear it ringing. It goes to voicemail.

“Maybe he couldn’t sleep and just went out for a drive,” Bambam says, tone nonchalant even as he frowns and hits redial.

“He hasn’t done that in years,” Yugyeom insists, climbing into the bed with Bambam.

“That we know of,” Bambam corrects, as the call goes to voicemail again. He hangs up.

“What should we do?” Yugyeom asks. Bambam chews on his lower lip for a moment, thinking.

“It’s probably nothing,” he says eventually, but doesn’t make any move to go back to sleep.

“Yeah,” Yugyeom agrees, even though he’s not so sure. This is _weird._ Jackson doesn’t just disappear in the middle of the night. At least, he’s never done it before. Apart from an emergency, which he would’ve woken them up for, Yugyeom can’t think of anything Jackson would even be doing out of the apartment in the middle of the night. It feels suspicious, and Yugyeom’s anxious stomach is having a field day. “Maybe we should call Uncle Mark?”

Bambam shakes his head. “Let’s just wait awhile and see if he comes back.” He gets off the bed and heads to the living room.

“You mean _when_ he comes back,” Yugyeom corrects, following after him.

“Right,” Bambam agrees, but he doesn’t sound very confident.

Then end up on the couch, watching TV with the volume turned down low so they can listen for Jackson’s return. Yugyeom’s ears keep playing tricks on him, making him think he can hear the beep of the code being entered in the keypad, but every time he looks at the door, no one is there.

Despite his nerves, Yugyeom falls asleep eventually, and wakes to the sun shining in his eyes. He’s lying on the couch, and Bambam is sleeping on the other end, with their legs tangled together in the middle. The TV is turned off, and there’s a blanket draped over them that wasn’t there before. When he goes into the kitchen, on the counter are two rolls of kimbap and a note from Jackson about turning the TV off before falling asleep. Yugyeom is officially concerned.

 

//

 

The real first day of school isn’t terrible at all. The teachers are all pretty nice, apart from the mounds of homework they assign. (Shouldn’t there be some kind of law against assigning so much work on the first day? Yugyeom thinks so.) The students are nice, too, which Yugyeom tries not to find surprising. All he knows about private schools, he learned from TV dramas, and clearly the writers of those shows are misinformed. So far no one has thrown rotten eggs at him, or stolen his backpack and thrown it in a fountain, or placed a symbol in his locker indicating that the whole school should gang up on him and beat him to a pulp. The sunbaes are generally friendly and encouraging, and his classmates seem just as nervous as he is. All in all, everything goes much better than anticipated.

Apart from the fact that Yugyeom can’t stop wondering what Jackson is up to. He disappeared again last night, and Yugyeom fell asleep before he could catch him coming home. At breakfast, Jackson seemed perfectly content to keep lying about it, and Yugyeom was too nervous about the first day of school to call him out on it. The curiosity is steadily burning a hole in his gut, though.

“What if he’s a stripper?” Bambam asks, as they sit down at lunch. Apparently Bambam has spent all morning thinking about Jackson’s nighttime activities, too. Yugyeom’s relieved that he’s not the only one.

“Taxi driver?” Yugyeom guesses.

“Bouncer?”

“Sleepwalker?”

“One night stand?”

“It’s been more than one night, though,” Yugyeom points out. “He disappeared twice.” A thought occurs to him, and he feels his stomach drop. He lowers his voice, even though no one in the cafeteria is paying attention to them, or cares what they’re talking about anyways. “What if he’s dating someone?”

“Jackson-hyung, dating someone? No way,” Bambam says, shaking his head. “He would’ve told us by now.”

“Who would’ve told you what?”

A tray plunks down next to Yugyeom’s, and he looks over to see one of their classmates, Jungkook, taking a seat. They met Jungkook in their modern dance class that morning, where they were the only three boys who stood at the front of the room. Despite the seemingly universal law that all fifteen-year-old boys must look like and move with the grace of adolescent geese, Jungkook is handsome and graceful, and people’s eyes follow him everywhere (not that he seems to notice). He’s already a decent dancer, and he says he loves singing and wants to learn how to compose music, and even the teachers are smitten with him. He’s kind of shy but just as eager to learn and improve as Yugyeom and Bambam are, and Yugyeom thinks they’ll get along well. Bambam thinks Jungkook is bound to be the most popular boy in their grade, and it’ll be useful to them later if they befriend him now. Yugyeom thinks Bambam should stop saying everything he’s thinking out loud all the time, because it’s making him sound like a dick. Also, if Jungkook hears him talk like that, they might scare him off.

“Our hyung,” Yugyeom explains, rearranging the stuff on their table so Jungkook has more room. “He’s been acting weird lately. We’re trying to figure out why.”

“Maybe he’s dating someone?” Jungkook guesses, faint satoori accent making him seem even cuter than previously thought possible. Yugyeom is so fascinated by the general amazingness of Jungkook that he almost misses his suggestion.

“That’s what I said!” Yugyeom exclaims, at the exact same moment Bambam grumbles, “That’s what he said.” Jungkook looks amused.

“Do you guys always do that?” he asks. Yugyeom and Bambam shrug in sync, and Jungkook laughs, delighted. “Cool.”

“We spend a lot of time together,” Yugyeom explains.

“Too much time together,” Bambam corrects, and Yugyeom rolls his eyes.

“At least you have a friend here already,” Jungkook says between bites of food. “I came all the way from Busan for this, and I don’t know anyone yet.”

“Wow,” Yugyeom marvels. He can’t imagine moving all the way across the country by himself, and as a minor, no less. Even though he can’t remember what it’s like to have biological parents, he’s always had someone looking out for him. Jungkook is basically independent, and it sounds simultaneously exciting and terrifying. “So you live in the dorms?” Jungkook nods. “Don’t you have a roommate?”

“No, I guess he dropped out right before classes started. So, for now, I have a double room to myself.”

“That’s awesome!” Bambam exclaims.

“Don’t you get lonely?” Yugyeom asks.

“Kinda, yeah,” Jungkook says with a shrug. “It’s only been a few days, but so far it hasn’t been too bad. Hey, you guys should visit sometime!”

“Yeah, totally!” Bambam agrees.

Yugyeom's fluttery excitement at being invited to Jungkook’s room is slightly dampened by his sense of responsibility. “We just have to make sure it’s okay with our hyung first.”

“Sure,” Jungkook says, nodding. “Is this the same one who’s acting weird?”

“Yeah,” Yugyeom sighs, deflating slightly. He had forgotten about their dilemma for a moment. It was a nice moment.

“Weird how?”

“He’s been super tired lately, and really distracted,” Bambam explains. “And keeps disappearing in the middle of the night and showing up again in the morning.”

“It only happened twice,” Yugyeom corrects, subtly trying to save face on Jackson’s behalf. Bambam is making it sound much worse than it is. “But still. Weird.”

“Sounds like he’s hiding something,” Jungkook muses.

“It’s probably nothing,” Yugyeom assures, trying to sound like he believes it. Bambam shoots him a doubtful look, and Jungkook bites his lip thoughtfully.

“My friend back home’s hyung acted kind of like that once,” he says. He leans in close and lowers his voice. “Nine months later, my friend was an uncle.”

Yugyeom is stunned silent. He hadn’t even thought of that as a possibility. Jackson is single, and besides, he's smarter than that… isn’t he? A year ago, Jackson permanently scarred both of them with the most enthusiastic sex education talk that has probably ever been given in the history of the world, and Yugyeom remembers _very vividly_ how much Jackson stressed the importance of always using a condom. He hadn’t been able to look at a banana the same way for months. Surely, Jackson wouldn’t have gotten himself in that kind of trouble.

Besides, they can’t afford a baby.

 

//

 

Bambam is unusually quiet on the bus home from school, and Yugyeom doesn’t blame him. Since their conversation with Jungkook, his mind has veered sharply off the track of “what the hell is Jackson hiding” and onto the track of “dear God, please not a baby.” It looks like Bambam isn’t doing much better.

When they get home, they sit in silence at the kitchen table, working on their first day’s homework and doing their best to pretend they’re not horrified at the idea of Jackson accidentally fathering a child. Yugyeom mourns the disappearance of his last shred of childlike ignorance. He had thought it was destroyed after that sex talk, but clearly he was wrong. He can’t stop imagining the three of them raising a baby in their tiny apartment. He’s too young to be a responsible older brother figure, and he knows nothing about infant care, and--

The beeping sound of a code being entered into the front door’s keypad startles him out of his panicky thought spiral. The door beeps angrily, indicating that a wrong code has been entered, and Yugyeom looks at Bambam, confused. Bambam, eyes wide and appearing equally befuddled, shrugs unhelpfully. They can hear whoever is outside enter the code again, and get denied a second time. Bambam gets up and heads down the hall, and Yugyeom follows. At the front door, Bambam stands on his tiptoes to look through the peephole, makes a surprised sound, and opens the door.

“Hi Uncle Mark,” Bambam says, stepping aside to reveal Mark, standing in their doorway with his hands full of plastic bags, fingers of one hand stretched out toward the keypad of the door. He’s frozen for a moment, eyes wide like he’s been caught committing a crime. Bambam steps forward to take some bags from him, and he snaps out of it.

“I didn’t know you guys would be home yet,” Mark says quietly, letting Bambam take a few bags and hefting the rest inside himself. “Did Jackson change the key code? I couldn’t get it open.”

“No,” Bambam says, heading to the kitchen. Yugyeom steps aside to let them through.

“Oh,” Mark says, following. He’s eloquent like that.

“Why are you bringing us groceries?” Yugyeom asks, bringing up the rear. Mark drops his bags on the kitchen table and shakes out his hands. There are red lines across his palms from the weight of the bags. Yugyeom wonders how long he stood out there trying to remember the key code before typing it in. Bambam is already digging through the bags he carried, making a happy noise when he pulls out a can of hot chocolate mix.

“Uh, Jackson helped me with something,” Mark says quickly, avoiding Yugyeom’s eyes. He starts pulling things out of bags and passing them to Yugyeom to put away. “I wanted to thank him.”

“Oh,” Yugyeom says, acting as though what Mark is saying makes sense, when really it doesn’t, not at all. When would Jackson have time to help Mark with something? Between his two jobs and helping Yugyeom and Bambam prepare for school and dealing with what Yugyeom is becoming increasingly certain is impending fatherhood, Jackson barely has time to sleep, much less help Mark out with “something.”

Mark looks at Yugyeom for a long moment, then frowns and pulls out his phone. He types out something quickly, pockets the phone, and resumes emptying the bags. Yugyeom’s suspicion spikes sharply. The adults in his life are acting weirder every day. They’re also really bad at lying. Yugyeom isn’t much better, but he flatters himself that he’d pull it off better than this. It’s like Mark isn’t even trying.

“Are you going to stay for dinner?” Bambam asks, hopping up on the counter and ripping open a bag of chips he found. He stuffs a handful in his mouth, getting chip pieces everywhere. “Jackson-hyung is working late tonight.”

Mark looks back and forth between Yugyeom and Bambam, face completely blank again. Yugyeom has learned over the years that this is Mark’s thinking face, which is kind of hilarious because he’s always thinking so he always looks like that, blank and a little bit stunned, like someone just used a banana to demonstrate how a condom is used. Mark’s phone chirps and he pulls it out, reads the message, and looks up again, seeming a little more relaxed.

“Yeah, I can stay. I bought some chicken, we can make that.”

“Chicken!” Bambam howls, kicking his feet and banging them against the counter, and that’s the end of that.

They tell Mark all about their first day of school while they make dinner, and he stops acting weird eventually. Before they eat, Yugyeom makes sure to set aside a large portion for Jackson, who always forgets to take food with him to his second job and comes home starving at night. He’s actually eaten ramen after work a few times, much to everyone’s shared horror and confusion. Hungry people do crazy things.

After they eat, Mark hangs out with them for a while. They cajole him into playing Mario Kart with them, because it’s always more fun with more players, and Jackson never has time to play with them these days. Not that Jackson is the best at video games anyways; he gets frustrated too easily and usually quits within the first hour. Mark isn’t great, but he doesn’t care; he laughs at himself as his character drives off the road over and over again, and Bambam and Yugyeom can’t help but laugh with him.

They’re so focused on the game that they don’t hear the key code being punched in and Jackson entering until he’s on top of them, throwing himself across their laps on the couch and making them all lose control of their karts, to a collective groan.

“Aww, I love you too!” Jackson coos, reaching out to ruffle Bambam’s hair. Mark, in the middle of the couch and thus having a lap full of Jackson’s ass, takes the opportunity presented to him and slaps it until Jackson yelps and falls to the floor. He looks up, rubbing his ass and frowning. “Wow, this is the thanks I get for helping you? Noted, Markie-pooh. Noted.”

Mark suddenly looks stiff and awkward again. “I should probably go.” He gets up from the couch and holds out a hand to haul Jackson up onto his feet.

“Yeah, okay,” Jackson agrees sadly, clapping him on the shoulder. “Thanks for keeping them company, anyways. I’ll walk you out to your car.”

The two men exit the apartment quickly, and Yugyeom’s uneasy feeling is back in full force. He looks at Bambam, who doesn’t look much better, and sighs.

“We should probably ask him when he gets back.”

“Yeah,” Bambam agrees, tossing his controller onto the table defeatedly.

“Just... let me do the talking,” Yugyeom instructs, and Bambam, surprisingly, nods his assent.

Jackson returns shortly, passing by the living room and heading to the kitchen, calling over his shoulder as he goes, “How was school? Tell me all about it!”

Yugyeom and Bambam follow him into the kitchen and take seats at the table. Jackson is busy unwrapping the leftovers and putting them into the microwave.

“It was good,” Yugyeom says, trying to sound enthusiastic. Jackson punches some numbers into the microwave and turns to look at them, an eyebrow raised suspiciously.

“‘Good’?” Jackson asks. “That’s all, just ‘good’?”

“How was work?” Yugyeom asks, avoiding the question because he knows that once they get started talking about school, he’ll get distracted and lose his nerve.

“Are you a stripper?” Bambam blurts out. Yugyeom, completely completely shocked at the outburst, tries to cover Bambam’s mouth a little too enthusiastically, and winds up smacking him in the face instead. The resulting scuffle in which Bambam tries to retaliate distracts Yugyeom enough that he completely forgets that Jackson _heard that,_ he heard what Bambam said, and oh no, this is gonna be bad.

“What?” Jackson asks, in the quiet, calm way, the scariest of the ways Jackson says that word. Usually, it’s kind of jokey, and followed by laughter, and then Bambam does a better job of explaining whatever crap came out of his mouth that time and everything’s cool. No, this is the way Jackson says “what” that means there will be hurt feelings and parental-style retribution. It does not bode well for Bambam.

“We noticed you weren’t in your bed the last two nights,” Yugyeom cuts in, because he’s nothing if not magnanimously self-sacrificing, and a little bit stupid. Besides, if Bambam keeps putting his foot in his mouth, they’re never going to get any answers, and Yugyeom needs to _know._ It’s affecting his school performance, probably. “We weren’t sure where you went.”

“So your logical conclusion is that I’m a stripper?” Jackson asks, shock and anger melting into confusion and amusement, which is territory Yugyeom is familiar with. He retrieves his food from the microwave and brings it to the table, slumping down into a chair with the weariness of someone who hasn’t been sleeping well and whose kids are accusing him of exotic dancing.

“We don’t know what other thing you could be doing that would make you disappear at night and come back in the morning,” Yugyeom explains slowly, even though that’s a lie and his brain is screaming _TELL US ABOUT THE BABY._ Honestly, maybe Bambam sticking his foot in his mouth was a good thing, because that makes pitching their real suspicion seem less ridiculous.

“You’ve got the body for it,” Bambam pipes in, finally useful.

Jackson looks like he’s trying not to smile. “Thanks, I guess. But no, I’m not a stripper.” He rubs his hands tiredly over his face, then looks up with suddenly fearful eyes. “God, you haven’t mentioned this to anyone else have you? No one at school? Oh my God, they’re probably going to arrest me for child abuse or something--”

“You’re not abusing us,” Bambam says fiercely.

“I might as well be,” Jackson wails, collapsing his head onto the table. “My kids think I’m a stripper. I’m a terrible parental figure. I should have my license revoked.”

“There’s no such thing as a parent license.”

“Well there should be, and mine should be revoked!”

Yugyeom knows this strategy. Jackson is laying on the dramatics to distract them from their line of questioning. Yugyeom is not having it. Not today. He wants answers.

“So what is it, then?” Yugyeom asks, before he loses his nerve. “Are you… Are you seeing someone?”

Jackson’s head comes up abruptly at that. He looks each of them in the eye and then deliberately away. He seems like he’s thinking very hard about something.

“... No,” Jackson says slowly, and Yugyeom is pretty sure even a rock could tell he was lying.

“Hyung!”

“Fine,” Jackson sighs, eyes darting up to meet theirs, then back down to his hands, clenched together on the table. “I’m… seeing someone, yes.”

_“Hyung!”_

“I know, I know, but I didn’t think it would turn into anything. It started as something casual--”

“But now it’s not, right? Now it’s serious?” Here it is, the moment of truth. Yugyeom holds his breath.

“I don’t know if I would go so far as to say serious,” Jackson says slowly. He’s starting to sweat. Like, actual beads of sweat are appearing on his forehead. Wow, it’s been a while since Yugyeom’s seen him do that. Jackson holds his hands out, palms up, placatingly, and shrugs. “It’s just… not as casual as I’d thought.”

“So when can we meet her?” Bambam asks.

“Uhh, I’m going to go ahead and say never,” Jackson says, picking up his chopsticks and digging into his food. Bambam’s jaw falls open of its own accord. Yugyeom’s face feels hot. “Shouldn’t you two be doing homework or something?”

“What?” Bambam screeches, at the exact same time Yugyeom whines, “But you promised!”

It’s true, Jackson promised them years ago that anyone he dated would have to be approved by them first, before things started getting serious. Jackson looks cowed, at least. “I know, but I just don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Why not?” Bambam demands.

“I don’t know if it’s going to last. I don’t want to introduce you guys to him if it’s not going to go anywhere. That’s not fair to you.”

Yugyeom swears his heart skips a beat.

“Wait, him?”

Jackson looks nervously between them. “Yes, him.” Yugyeom and Bambam groan in relief. Jackson is starting to seem irritated. “What is going on with you two? I thought you knew that I--”

“Yeah, we knew,” Bambam says grinning. “We’re just happy it’s not a woman.”

Yugyeom kicks him under the table. Jackson looks suspicious.

“Why would you be happy I’m not dating a woman?”

“No reason,” Yugyeom says quickly, wincing when Bambam kicks him back. “So when can we meet him?”

“I said you can’t meet him, weren’t you paying attention?” Jackson grumbles between bites of food. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Doesn’t he know about us?” Yugyeom asks, perhaps a little too softly. He wishes he had a better grip on his emotions, that he could keep them under lock and key like Jackson can. But he’s just a kid, and the relief of not being a big brother hit him hard, and he’s a little scared that his hyung is too embarrassed to tell his new boyfriend about them.

“Of course he knows,” Jackson says gently, eyes doing that soft thing that means Yugyeom is probably going to end up crying about this sometime in the next twenty-four hours. He reaches his hand across the table to grasp Yugyeom’s and squeeze it. Yugyeom’s eyes feel prickly. “Of course he does. He’s been wanting to meet you guys, actually.”

This is completely surprising information. Jackson has a secret boyfriend who not only knows about them, but wants to _meet_ them? The shock of it distracts Yugyeom from the tightness in his throat. It’s almost too good to be true.

“So why not?” Bambam demands, absolutely ruining the moment.

“I guess you’re right,” Jackson sighs, releasing Yugyeom’s hand. He pauses for a moment, thinking, before nodding to himself and looking up at them again. “I guess it’s about time. But there are going to be ground rules, okay? And don’t get your hopes up. There’s no guarantee he’s going to stick around.”

Yugyeom gets out of his chair and hurries around the table to tackle Jackson in a hug. He yelps, almost falling off his chair, but luckily Bambam appears on his other side, holding him upright and hugging him, too. Jackson laughs, and wraps an arm around each of their waists to pull them in close.

“You guys are reacting a lot better than I thought you would, honestly,” Jackson says, chuckling. “What brought this on?”

Yugyeom laughs, a wet, happy sound that comes from somewhere deep in his soul, and buries his face against Jackson’s shoulder. “We’re just really happy for you, hyung.”

Jackson makes a soft sound of surprise and tightens his grip on Yugyeom’s waist. He doesn’t know that they spent the entire afternoon thinking he had fathered an illegitimate child that they would have to raise themselves, and he doesn’t need to know. Yugyeom is content to bask in his hyung’s affection and wrap his brain around the concept that Jackson is seeing someone, he finally has someone else who likes him and who makes him happy, and it’s so much better than anything Yugyeom could have dreamed up.

This is officially the best first day of school ever.


	5. How could I ever refuse? I feel like I win when I lose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Waterloo" by ABBA

Jinyoung is having a bad week.

A patient threw a box of tongue depressors at him when he told her that her inhaler would continue to be ineffective if she continued smoking. The package of specialty fertilizer he ordered online for his plants is nowhere to be found, even though the company says it was delivered two days ago. Jaebum canceled their Tuesday lunch because he had “a lot of papers to grade.” And now his sister is bailing on their monthly movie night because her kid has a fever.

Jinyoung likes scheduling his social outings, so he can mentally prepare for them. He has them marked on the calendar on his refrigerator weeks in advance so he can remember to go to them. He caffeinates heavily prior to each encounter, because his sister once told him he’s “much more fun with an espresso in him.” He was ready, mentally and physically, to go see the latest sci-fi thriller with his sister. And now their plans are cancelled, and after he ends the phone call with his sister with reassurances that it’s fine, he’s not mad, they can always rent it later, the sight of his calendar on the refrigerator makes him do a double-take. He steps closer, to get a better look, certain that his eyes are playing tricks on him, but no, it’s true--this movie night with his sister was his only scheduled social event for the next _three weeks._ He panics slightly.

It’s the panic that makes him pace, and the pacing that makes him think, and the thinking that makes him want to kick himself. Why does he have to be such a loner? Why does he turn people down when they invite him to things? It’s not like being a little friendlier would kill him. In fact, it probably would have prevented this situation from happening in the first place. Now he’s alone in his apartment on a weekday, caffeinated to the hilt at ten o’clock at night, pacing a rut into his expensive stain-resistant carpet.

If only people were less… awful, Jinyoung thinks to himself, mentally grasping at straws to make his reticence more acceptable. If there’s one thing he’s learned from his time working in healthcare, it’s that, as a species, human beings are generally a bad idea. Evolution really dropped the ball on that one. People are loud, and selfish, and smelly, and ungrateful. They’re only vaguely tolerable as children, before they learn to be terrible, but that threshold is getting lower and lower every day. Just last week a kid in peds stole the cookie Jinyoung had been saving for an afternoon treat off the counter of the nurses station when his back was turned. He had initially stolen the cookie from the spread meant for donors at the blood drive, but that’s beside the point. If he ever has kids, he swears to himself, he’ll teach them to be kind, and humble, and, perhaps most importantly, sociable, so they never have to be an awkward loser who schedules their social encounters weeks in advance and wallows when those plans are canceled. That’s assuming, of course, that he ever finds someone willing to be with him long enough to tolerate co-parenting with him, which is looking less likely by the minute.

So. Jinyoung needs some human contact stat if he’s going to maintain his slim grasp on sanity, that much is clear. The gravelly voice in the back of his head that he likes to think of as a needy goblin who is desperate for love and not at all related to his sensible grown-up brain is basically banging pots together in frustration. How exactly he should go about appeasing the goblin is an entirely different problem altogether. Everyone Jinyoung knows is asleep, or working, or nursing sick children, or on the other side of the country. He could always call Jaebum and make him come over. Jaebum will never let him live it down, but Jinyoung is just desperate enough to consider the embarrassment as a necessary evil. Then again, Jaebum has never been particularly forgiving when roused from sleep (and he is most definitely sleeping, the nerd, as it is after sundown on a school night), so Jinyoung shelves that idea for the time being, and ponders his alternatives.

For a moment Jinyoung considers calling a chat line, and then cringes so violently that he actually gets a cramp in his neck, and has to stand still and stretch it out for a minute before he can resume pacing.

He could visit Youngjae at work, but that would probably make him feel even more pathetic than he already does. He could go to the bar and text Youngjae to meet him when his shift is over--

The bar.

It’s perfect.

There’s always someone at the bar willing to chat, and that someone is usually a certain handsome but incompetent bartender. Not that that’s the reason Jinyoung wants to go to the bar, not at all. He hasn’t seen Youngjae in a while, and he did sort of ditch him the last time they went out together. This is about _reconnecting with Youngjae,_ not about admiring the visage and bathing his ears in the melodious laughter of an unattainable bartender. Not at all. Those are merely… benefits.

Besides, even if someone else is bartending, Jinyoung can use the opportunity to hone his social skills while he waits for Youngjae to get off of work. He locates his phone and types out a hasty text: _Want to meet me at Raymond’s after your shift? I’m in the neighborhood._ It’s total bullshit, but Youngjae will probably be so excited that Jinyoung is finally initiating quality time that he won’t think too deeply about it.

Jinyoung manages to get his coat and shoes on and out the door before another realization hits him and he pauses with his hand still on the doorknob.

If a certain bartender--who, due to Jinyoung’s fervent denial about his own interest thereof, shall remain nameless--is working after all, he’ll realize that Jinyoung didn’t just casually drop by after work, because the absence of his incriminating red scrubs will be glaring. That particular bartender might get the (entirely false!) impression that Jinyoung went out of his way to see _him,_ and think that Jinyoung is trying to stalk him or something. He did turn Jinyoung down for a date, after all, and even though their last conversation went rather well, Jinyoung finds himself uncertain. What if he shows up in regular clothes and the bartender-- _Jackson,_ Jinyoung forces himself to say aloud; it’s just a name after all, it’s not as if saying it three times will summon him like a demon--gets uncomfortable, or ignores him, or asks him to leave? Jinyoung may be desperate and a touch infatuated, but he’s not a stalker. Even though he knows this to be true, the thought of anyone thinking that poorly of him is enough to send him cringing back into his apartment.

Jinyoung shucks off his coat and heads back to his bedroom, where he changes into a clean uniform, happily ignoring the feeling of dishonesty that tickles the back of his mind. This is fine. A little white lie never hurt anyone, right? And if it saves him from being politely asked to never again darken the doorstep of Jackson’s workplace, it’s worth the minor discomfiture he feels with himself.

The drive to the bar has Jinyoung  singing loudly (and badly) to distract himself from the way his hands clench the steering wheel, knuckles turning white with anticipation and heavy caffeine use. When he pulls into the nearly-empty parking lot and stares up at the flickering neon sign, he has to take a few minutes to talk himself into getting out of the car. What if Jackson isn’t exactly thrilled to see him? What if he asks Jinyoung why he’s there on a weeknight, when he’s only ever shown up on Sundays, and with a horde of nurses to boot? It’ll seem conspicuous that he’s coming to the bar alone, right? Jinyoung temporarily considers putting the car in reverse and going back home before he realizes that the odds of Jackson working this evening are slim, and the odds of him deeply analyzing the motivations of some random customer are even slimmer. It’s enough to get him out of the car, at least.

Jinyoung enters the bar to find it almost empty. Less than a dozen customers are in the room, spread out among the rickety tables and generally focused on a baseball game on the TV. Jinyoung barely notices them, though, because he spies a familiar face behind the counter and suddenly warmth blooms in his chest, as his feet carry him steadily closer of their own volition.

“Jinyoung-ssi! I didn’t expect to see you here tonight!” Jackson says, smiling wide, and it’s enough to justify this entire harebrained scheme in an instant. Something about being warmly welcomed by Jackson is just… inherently satisfying, in a way Jinyoung has only experienced with close friends and family. That’s the real reason he was so looking forward to seeing him, Jinyoung tells himself. Jackson has a way of making people feel special with just a broad smile and a loud greeting, of making them feel like old friends even though they’re as good as strangers.

Unfortunately, the illusion is short-lived, because there’s someone with Jackson who isn’t looking nearly as warm and friendly as Jinyoung approaches. Jinyoung belatedly recognizes him as Mark, the bartender who attempted to teach Jackson the ropes on that first fateful night. Although Jinyoung has noticed in his past sporadic nights at the bar that Mark is not exactly the most talkative person, usually he smiles enough to make up for it. Tonight, though, he kind of looks like he’s wishing Jinyoung wasn’t here.

“I’m sorry, is this a bad time?” Jinyoung asks, hovering awkwardly next to the barstool he usually occupies, suddenly doubting his impulsive decision to venture out this evening.

“Not at all!” Jackson says, waving a hand in the air as he grabs a glass and heads to the tap to pour one of his signature half-foam pints. Mark watches Jackson slide the pitiful glass across the bar and sighs heavily, clearly disappointed that his lessons in the art of bartending have gone to waste. Jinyoung sits and takes the glass enthusiastically (tamping down the little thrill of joy that bubbles up at the fact that Jackson remembered _again_ which beer Jinyoung prefers) and takes a big gulp, smiling broadly for Mark’s benefit. He hopes it’s enough to convey the message that he’s familiar with Jackson’s sub-par bartending and not displeased with the result. Mark watches Jinyoung silently, but his eyebrows rise ever so slightly. Jackson looks back and forth between them, then clears his throat and claps Mark on the back. “Hey, lighten up! Jinyoung-ssi here is my favorite customer!

Jinyoung ducks his head for a moment, feeling his face grow warm. He’s Jackson’s _favorite customer?_ Jackson probably says that about everyone, Jinyoung assures himself, in an attempt to fight off the dumb grin that threatens to crease his face. When he raises his head again, Mark is watching him, eyebrows rising steadily higher.

“Favorite customer, eh?”

“Yes, he’s very patient with me.” Jackson nods earnestly, hand over his heart as though he’s swearing a pledge. “Without him, I would have washed all the dishes by hand.”

“Without me, you wouldn’t have washed the dishes at all,” Jinyoung corrects, no longer able to keep the smile off of his face. Jackson smiles back, though--beams, actually--and it’s enough to make Jinyoung’s lonely evening thus far feel like it happened years ago instead of minutes. Jinyoung turns to Mark, hoping their shared amusement at Jackson’s antics will lead to a bonding moment. “He thought that dishwashing was optional, since it wasn’t on the list you gave him.”

Mark tosses back his head and laughs, high-pitched and childlike, a sharp contradiction to his solemn appearance that takes Jinyoung completely by surprise.

“Of course he did,” Mark says, reaching out to ruffle Jackson’s hair. Jackson swats his hand away, but he’s laughing too, and just like that, the mood lightens drastically. “He’s an idiot.”

Jackson rolls his eyes. “Don’t remind me,” he whines, leaning forward until his entire upper body is draped dramatically across the bar top. He lays his head on his arm, casts his eyes downward, and pouts, drawing a finger through a droplet of mystery liquid on the counter. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Well, you could start with telling them the truth,” Mark says gently. Jackson groans and rolls until he’s face down, arms sprawled forward, close enough for Jinyoung to touch. Jinyoung’s confusion at the direction the conversation has taken is momentarily suppressed by the sight of Jackson’s tan, muscled forearms. Jinyoung clenches his fingers under the counter to resist the urge to reach out and reverently stroke his hands down them. They’re very nice forearms, okay?

“You know I can’t do that,” Jackson mumbles into the countertop. “Maybe I should just be a stripper after all.”

Well _that_ certainly gets Jinyoung’s full attention. He drags his gaze away from Jackson’s forearms to get a look at his face, but Jackson’s head is still planted firmly in the bartop. A questioning glance at Mark gets him nothing but an exasperated shake of the head. “Wait, what happened?”

“Well, twenty-eight years ago, I was born an idiot, and then it never got better,” Jackson says solemnly, rolling once more onto his side. Mark snorts. Jinyoung stifles a laugh. Jackson sighs dramatically and hauls himself up on one elbow, looking up at Jinyoung through dark lashes. “My kids figured out that I’ve been sneaking out at night.”

“Oh?” Jinyoung asks. He didn’t know that Jackson had been sneaking out to come work here in the first place, but he feels like pointing that out will be detrimental to the process of getting the whole story out of Jackson, who Jinyoung has learned has a dramatic streak a mile wide.

“Yeah. They cornered me and asked me where I’ve been. Well, actually, they asked if I’m a stripper--”

Mark’s childlike laughter interrupts Jackson’s sentence, giving Jinyoung the distraction he needs to gracefully not gasp aloud. His kids asked him if he’s a stripper? What kind of bizarre things happen at their house that that sort of question even comes to their minds? Jackson swings an arm out to gently shove Mark’s face away, which only results in more giggling from Mark, who Jinyoung is beginning to suspect is a lot closer to Jackson than just a co-worker at the bar. It shouldn’t be as significant as it feels to Jinyoung, who suppresses a foolish twinge of jealousy at the easy skinship between the two of them.

“--and then I told them that I don’t actually take my clothes off for money, weirdly enough, and they wanted to know what I was doing instead, and before I could come up with an excuse, they guessed that I was dating someone, and it sounded like a pretty good alibi so I ran with it.”

“They don’t know that you work here?” Jinyoung asks, desperately blocking his mind from creating images of Jackson as a stripper, although the needy goblin puts up a valiant fight. He gets flashes of oiled biceps and body rolls, enough to make him feel like the temperature in the room has risen a few degrees, before he puts a tight lid (and a heavy deadbolt) on that particular fantasy.

“Nope. I’m only working here to pay for their fancy private school tuition,” Jackson says, crossing his arms and slumping a hip against the bar. “If they knew I picked up another job to pay for it, they wouldn’t go, and they _have to go._ They worked so hard to get in.”

Ah, so that’s the situation. It’s an unfortunate story that everyone has heard before: kids with bright futures that their parents can’t afford. There’s resignation in Jackson’s demeanor, not quite defeat but something similar, a feeling of “what can you do?” in the face of the unfairness of the world. Jinyoung can tell there’s a deep sense of pride in Jackson as well, that maybe might be holding him back from accepting help that he could be getting. It’s dignity almost to the point of foolishness, Jinyoung thinks, as he suddenly realizes with perfect clarity that Jackson is the type of person who won’t take anything he hasn’t earned.

Jinyoung notices again how very tired Jackson looks, like he hasn’t slept well in months, if not years. It must be difficult to be working so hard and having to keep it a secret from the people he loves. Jinyoung is typically rather vocal when it comes to whining about his occasional fatigue to Jaebum, and his sisters, and his mother, and basically anyone close to him who will listen. He realizes that he never understood what a luxury it is to have people he can unload his worries on, without having to worry about keeping secrets to protect his loved ones’ feelings.

“Did you check into scholarships?” Mark asks.

Jackson sighs heavily. “They didn’t get any of the ones I applied for. Apparently, there are smarter, more talented, poorer kids out there. Bullshit, right?”

Mark hums sympathetically, and Jinyoung’s heart twinges painfully. He doesn’t personally know Jackson’s kids, but if they’re anything like Jackson, they deserve every good thing the world can give them.

“So what’s the problem?” Jinyoung asks, attempting to direct the conversation away from the “woe-is-me” direction in which it’s heading. “They think you’re dating… so what?”

“A few years ago, I promised them veto rights to anyone I dated.” Jackson ducks his head and rubs at the back of his neck, drawing Jinyoung’s gaze to those marvellous forearms again. He valiantly tears his eyes away, to focus on Jackson’s face again. It’s only polite, after all. “They want to meet my imaginary boyfriend.”

“Oh,” Jinyoung says dumbly. That would be problematic. What’s also problematic is that every time Jackson opens his mouth, he says something that makes him even more loveable. Jinyoung hasn’t even finished his drink, but he feels tipsy with emotion.

“They can’t remember to do their chores every week, but this they don’t forget,” Jackson sighs. “So, basically, I have to find someone to pose as my boyfriend.” He turns to Mark, who is frowning. Whether it’s in unhappiness or thought, Jinyoung can’t tell. “Mark, do you know anyone?”

“No,” Mark says with a shrug. “Why would I know anyone?”

“I don’t know, Mark!” Jackson wails. “You seem like you know more people than I do! All the people I know are my kids’ teachers and the other people in the middle school PTA! And my kids aren’t even _in middle school!_ I don’t meet people anymore!”

“I’ll do it,” Jinyoung blurts out, before his normal mental firewalls can block the thought from escaping. His brain is still slightly frazzled from the thought of Jackson as a stripper, which is completely understandable, he reassures himself. Anyone presented with those images would crumble under the pressure. What’s less understandable is impulsively volunteering to be someone’s fake boyfriend. Unfortunately, Jackson clearly heard it, as he is hauling himself off the counter and looking at Jinyoung with wide eyes.

“You would do that for me?” Jackson gasps.

“I mean, I have a few days off work next week,” Jinyoung explains lamely, trying to backtrack from what was clearly an overly eager offer. “I could… If you can’t find anyone else--”

“Really?” Mark asks, eyes narrowing slightly as though he thinks Jinyoung is kidding.

“Yeah,” Jinyoung says, shrugging as though his palms aren’t slick with sweat and his heart isn’t about to pound out of his chest. _What are you doing?_ He screams at himself inside his head. _Stop, stop it RIGHT NOW._ His mouth, continuing to prove itself useless, betrays him yet again. “Why not?”

“You don’t even know him,” Mark, very accurately, points out. Jinyoung doesn’t know how to explain to him that despite their limited time together, he feels like he’s known Jackson for years. He also doesn’t know how to explain that it will be easy to pretend to be Jackson’s boyfriend, because he kind of desperately wishes that he was.

“Mark’s right,” Jackson says, eyes going downcast and posture slumping. Jinyoung feels like he’s gotten emotional whiplash as he watches all the hope and excitement of just moments ago sluicing off of Jackson so quickly. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Jinyoung’s mouth says, again without his permission. He doesn’t even know how to try and stop it anymore. It’s clearly got a mind of its own. “It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.”

Damn. Jinyoung and his mouth need to have a talk. As Jinyoung laments his inability to maintain control over his own body parts, Jackson’s expression slowly, almost comically, lightens from desolate, to hopeful, to ecstatic.

“Oh my _God!_ You’re a lifesaver!” Jackson shouts, fisting his hands into his hair in shock. Jinyoung’s brain gets stuck on a loop of _triceps triceps triceps_ and distracts him long enough to delay the panic-inducing realization that he just agreed to be Jackson’s fake boyfriend. What the hell is he thinking? He can’t--he shouldn’t--

“How are we going to do this?” Jackson asks, mostly to himself it would seem, as he hasn’t seemed to noticed Jinyoung’s partial panic attack. Mark, the sharp-eyed bastard, is a different story, as Jinyoung catches him staring with an intense gaze and pursed lips. Jinyoung finally sucks in a breath and attempts to appear calmer than he feels, even as Jackson continues babbling, clueless to Jinyoung’s distress. “We should figure out a backstory. When are you free to meet them? I can…”

Jinyoung’s phone chirps, startling him. He pulls it out to check it, grateful for the minor distraction from the consequences of his own impulsivity.

_That sounds great, hyung!! Just clocked out! On my way~_

Well, shit.

Jinyoung completely forgot his original intention when deciding to head to the bar--to ease his loneliness by way of Youngjae’s earnest affection. He didn’t exactly think through the implications of wearing his scrubs to the bar, if Youngjae is planning to meet him. For God knows what reason, Youngjae has Jinyoung’s work schedule memorized, so he’ll know immediately that Jinyoung is lying if he says he just got off of work. Youngjae is also smart enough to figure out Jinyoung’s real intentions within seconds of entering the bar and laying eyes on Jackson. Not to mention that this fake-boyfriends scheme they’re cooking up is incredibly incriminating. Certainly Youngjae would approve of such a scheme (for entirely impure reasons, shame on you Choi Youngjae), but Jinyoung is feeling oddly protective of Jackson’s time, and he can definitely do without the badgering Youngjae is sure to give him for details later.

Jinyoung clutches his phone tightly and hurriedly thinks up a solution. He can run out to his car, ditch the scrub top, leaving him in just his long-sleeved shirt (thank God for sensible layers), and head Youngjae off in the parking lot, redirecting him to another location before he even gets inside the bar.

“Is something wrong?” When Jinyoung looks up, Jackson’s brow is crinkled in concern.

“I actually have to go,” Jinyoung says, pocketing his phone and grabbing his coat from the neighboring barstool. If Youngjae already clocked out, Jinyoung has less than ten minutes before he arrives.

“Already?” Jackson asks. Jinyoung’s ears trick him into hearing a hint of disappointment in Jackson’s voice. Surely, he’s just surprised that Jinyoung is leaving a mere hour after arriving, when he typically stays the whole night. It suddenly hits Jinyoung that Jackson must be under no illusions about how lonely Jinyoung is, when he regularly spends the entire night in a bar without anyone calling him asking when he’ll be home. The thought makes Jinyoung’s ears burn in shame. One more reason to get out fast.

“I’m sorry,” Jinyoung mumbles, shrugging into his coat. He can’t think of a good excuse, and Jackson probably wouldn’t believe anything he came up with anyways, so he leaves it at that. Jackson’s expression is suddenly shuttered, as he watches Jinyoung button up.

“Yeah, the idea was stupid anyways.” Jackson clears his throat and ducks his head, grabbing a rag from the counter and scrubbing at an invisible spot. Jinyoung pauses in his hasty retreat, confused. Is Jackson backing out already?

“Oh, you don’t want to do it after all?” Jinyoung asks. Jackson’s head snaps up, expression befuddled.

“Of course I want to do it,” Jackson says, seemingly perplexed. He chews on his lower lip for a moment, appearing to choose his words carefully. “But I thought… since you’re leaving, which is fine--”

“Oh, I just, uh, forgot about something I had to do tonight,” Jinyoung explains lamely. He cuts his eyes to the clock on the wall behind Jackson’s head. Six minutes. “I’ll still help, I just can’t do it tonight. Maybe we can get together another time and work on a plan?”

“Okay,” Jackson says, bright smile returning as quickly as it had disappeared. “Here--” Jinyoung fidgets impatiently as Jackson grabs a cocktail napkin and a marker, scribbles something, and holds it out to Jinyoung-- “this is my phone number. Let me know when you’re free and we can figure this out.”

“Okay,” Jinyoung says, hoping his hand doesn’t visibly shake as he reaches for the napkin. Their fingers brush as he takes it, and he wonders if Jackson felt the same shock of energy at the contact. The lonely goblin in his mind is having a field day, but he doesn’t have time to analyze it. He still has to avert potential disaster with Youngjae. “I’ll text you.”

“Bye, Jinyoung-ssi!” Jackson calls as Jinyoung hurries to the door. Jinyoung waves a hand in salute and shoves out of the door. His hand curls subconsciously around the napkin in his pocket. Four minutes.

He manages to dive into the backseat of his car, wriggle out of his coat, yank off his scrub top, decide his black scrub pants are nondescript enough to pass as regular pants, wriggle back into his coat, and exit the car in less than two minutes. Lucky for him, too, because just as he’s speed-walking back through the parking lot he sees Youngjae already at the door, reaching for the handle a minute early. Overachiever.

“Choi Youngjae!”

Youngjae snaps his head around, looking for the source of the voice. As he locates Jinyoung, his outstretched hand falls away from the door handle.

“Hyung! Hi!”

Jinyoung jogs over, subtly situating himself between Youngjae and the door.

“Hi,” Jinyoung breathes heavily, half from the effort, half from the relief of catching Youngjae before he entered the bar.

“You didn’t have to run,” Youngjae says, one eyebrow quirked in amusement and confusion.

“I just wanted to catch you,” Jinyoung says. Youngjae’s other eyebrow joins the first. Jinyoung hurries to correct himself. “Because I don’t really feel like drinking after all. Want to get some food, maybe?’

“Yeah, I’m actually starving,” Youngjae grins, shoulders sagging in gratitude. Jinyoung’s shoulders sag with them, but for a very different reason. Crisis averted, for now.

They end up going out for noodles. Youngjae talks a mile a minute about his shift and his patients and his co-workers, and Jinyoung just soaks it in, doing his best to keep track of Youngjae’s stories when all his brain wants to do is develop creative fantasies in which Jackson calls him cutesy nicknames and they do things like hold hands at the mall and wear couple sweaters. Thankfully, Youngjae seems to be none the wiser, and after they’re done eating and they leave to part ways, he pulls Jinyoung in for a tight hug and thanks him for a fun night. Jinyoung would be pleased, but somehow he feels like he doesn’t deserve Youngjae’s gratitude. His invitation was just a sham to hide his ulterior motives, after all.

The guilt nags at him all the way home, bubbling up slowly in his head until it’s cresting in miserable waves as gets ready for bed. It was a deceitful thing he did, completely against his nature, and even though it’s such a small transgression in the grand scheme of things, he feels as though he can’t relax, knowing he more or less used Youngjae as an excuse to get to Jackson. He pulls out his phone and sends Youngjae a text thanking him for meeting on such short notice and suggesting they do it again sometime. It’s not enough, but it helps.

With his mind less distracted by his own sore conscience, Jinyoung can fully turn his attention to the frankly terrible idea that he agreed to early in the evening. Relentless doubts cycle through his head: is is too late to back out? Would he ever be able to show his face at the bar again if he did? How would he explain to Youngjae that he can’t go out with the nurses anymore, without raising serious questions?

No, he has to go through with it. He made a promise to Jackson, and he still has enough dignity that he can’t back down from a promise. Besides, Jackson needs help, and he made it very clear that he has no one else to ask. But what if the kids hate him? What if Jackson spends more time with him and realizes exactly how much of an awkward loner he is? What if he slips up and exposes the whole thing? God, those kids would be so disappointed. Betrayed, even; trust broken, unable to be mended for years. He can’t let that happen. It has to go perfectly, for the kids’ sake, if no one else’s.

Jinyoung texts Jackson before going to bed, asking if he’s free to meet the following evening to discuss the details of their plot. Jackson replies in the affirmative almost instantly. Jinyoung’s heart flutters happily for a moment before he remembers that Jackson is probably still at the bar and bored out of his mind. Oh well. It’s still nice to feel wanted, if only for a distraction.

 

//

 

They agree to meet on Jinyoung’s dinner break in the hospital’s meditation garden, a tiny plant-filled plot of land with an unmistakeable bronze arch marking the entryway--easy for Jackson to recognize, as it’s visible from the parking lot of Raymond’s. It’s also quiet and pretty, a good place for a conversation, and Jinyoung thinks it would be a little more aesthetically pleasing than meeting in the emergency department’s waiting room, which had been his first thought (it has plenty of parking and copious signage directing the way, so Jackson couldn’t get lost! If it weren’t for the fact that it’s filled with sick and injured people, it would be perfect).

Unfortunately, Jinyoung has six hours of his shift to slog through before his usual scheduled dinner break at eight p.m. Between constantly checking the time so he won’t be late and the sudden attacks of crippling doubt that cause him to pull out his phone every hour or so and type out a message calling off the whole scheme (only to delete it immediately with nervous fingers carefully dodging the send button lest he hit it by mistake), it’s a wonder he gets any work done at all. When a call comes in to go to peds, he craftily passes the assignment off to a co-worker. Youngjae would figure out something's off in half a second if Jinyoung showed up in the state he’s in, and although the nosy nurse wouldn’t be able to tell exactly what was going on, he wouldn’t let Jinyoung go until he found out. Definitely better to avoid that confrontation all together, even if it means skipping his favorite department for the day.

After quite possibly the longest six hours of his entire life, Jinyoung manages to duck out of the locker room at ten to eight, unwrapping the sandwich he’d packed for his dinner and eating it as he power-walks through the underground hallways that staff use to get around the hospital. He gets a few odd looks, since most people can't be bothered to do anything on their breaks but sit down and inhale food, but it’s a necessary evil. He only gets one dinner break, after all, and if he’s going to be spending all of it talking to Jackson, he won’t get a chance to eat later. His nervous stomach roils at being fed so quickly while walking and while already under so much stress, but he forces it down anyways. Indigestion is better than no digestion, right?

The crisp night air is like a shock to his system, simultaneously a relief that he made it out with time to spare and a reminder that he’s actually doing this, he’s actually meeting the hot bartender to plot to be his fake boyfriend. He laughs to himself as he enters the garden, imagining the look on Jaebum’s face if he knew what Jinyoung was doing. It would probably be somewhere between pity, amusement, and abject horror. Jinyoung can’t say he wouldn't deserve it, either. This whole idea is so far-fetched that he still can’t believe he’s doing it, even as he settles on a bench within view of the bronze arch entryway and finishes his sandwich, watching the time on his wristwatch tick down.

Just as his watch ticks to seven fifty-seven, a figure turns the corner into the garden. Jinyoung would recognize that silhouette anywhere, frankly, and as the figure passes under a streetlight, carrying two cardboard cups and looking downright angelic in the soft yellow glow, his throat goes dry.

“Jinyoung-ssi!” Jackson calls, breaking into a half-jog toward him with arms awkwardly held up and away from his body, presumably to prevent any hot liquid from spilling on his person as he hurries closer. Jinyoung can see his brow is knotted in concern, and when he comes to a stop next to the bench, his chest rises and falls slightly more heavily than usual. “Am I late? What time is it? I thought we agreed on eight o’clock!”

“You’re not late, I’m just early,” Jinyoung reassures, after swallowing twice to clear his dry throat. Jackson’s shoulders sag visibly in relief. Jinyoung wishes his own shoulders would do the same, but he hasn’t been able to untense his body for the last hour, and Jackson’s appearance hasn’t helped. “Did you find it okay?”

Jackson nods. “I brought coffee. I didn’t know what you like, so I just guessed,” he says, holding out one of the cups. Jinyoung takes it and holds it in both hands, letting the warmth sink into his brittle fingers. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t warm his heart a little as well, to know that Jackson thought about him enough to go out of his way to buy Jinyoung something. He tamps down the feeling with the assumption that Jackson probably wanted coffee for himself, and he thought Jinyoung probably needed more bribing to agree to this ridiculous plot. He watches as Jackson shuffles from foot to foot, clearly trying to ward off the chill of the night air, and wonders if Jackson knows exactly how stupidly willing Jinyoung is, how eager to do anything Jackson says, no bribing necessary. It almost make him sick to his stomach a little bit, to know in his heart that he’s honestly just that desperate, that he’s clinging to the attention of a total stranger, even though it’s completely false. Jinyoung is just a means to an end to this guy, he reminds himself, no matter how sweet and thoughtful he may seem on the outside. He’s willingly offering himself up to be used, and the more he thinks about it, the more he pities himself.

Then again, the nervous set to Jackson’s shoulders, the worried crease of his brow… It makes it hard to paint him with such a callous brush. Maybe Jackson actually likes Jinyoung, and even if he doesn’t, he’s good enough at pretending that Jinyoung feels like he can trust himself in Jackson’s care, at least for one night. Maybe after this is done, he’ll stop going to Raymond’s for good and move on with his life, and this will all be a funny story he’ll tell Jaebum over lunch someday. Then again, maybe not. It’s hard to imagine not being able to gaze into those soft brown eyes on a regular basis, knowing he’ll never hear that cackling laugh again. Jinyoung holds in a heavy sigh, makes a valiant attempt to shoo away the storm clouds brewing in his mind and get in the mindset of Jackson’s boyfriend, and pats the seat next to him. Jackson practically dives to sit, accidentally jostling Jinyoung’s shoulder in the process. Jinyoung stifles a laugh at his enthusiasm. At any rate, Jackson still makes him laugh, and that’s good enough for right now.

“I figured any coffee is good coffee, when you work the evening shift, right?” Jackson asks, cupping his own drink in both hands and sipping, eyes wide and alert over the plastic lid.

“You are correct,” Jinyoung says, taking a sip of his drink. Whatever it is, it’s chocolatey and rich, and far too sweet for Jinyoung’s taste, but he’ll drink it, he’ll drink the whole damn thing with gusto, because Jackson bought it for him and Jackson is here at the hospital on a weeknight, visiting him on his dinner break just like a boyfriend would do, and if he doesn't think too hard about it, it seems just real enough to make Jinyoung feel fluttery and pleased. He takes a second sip and smiles at Jackson, who’s watching him intently, like he’s worried Jinyoung will hate it. “It’s good, but you should probably know that I usually drink Americanos.”

“Oh, right,” Jackson says. Suddenly he’s all business, squaring his shoulders and furrowing his brow. “I should know what kind of coffee my boyfriend drinks.”

An awkward silence falls, in which Jinyoung tries not to think too much about how nice the words “my boyfriend” sound coming out of Jackson’s mouth, and Jackson fidgets on the bench beside him. He clears his throat, wracking his brain for what to say to break the sudden awkwardness between them.

“What are you drinking?”

“Green tea,” Jackson says, holding his cup aloft with a small smile.

“Not a coffee drinker?”

“Not after 8 p.m.,” Jackson says with a laugh. Jinyoung wants to smack himself for asking something so stupid. Of course a normal adult who works regular-people-hours wouldn’t drink coffee at night. Just because Jackson works occasional night shifts doesn’t mean that he’s an entirely nocturnal creature. “I do drink coffee, when I need to stay awake, but I try to stick to healthier choices.”

Jinyoung nods slowly, processing the information. Of course someone with a body as sculpted as Jackson’s is very health-conscious. Jinyoung actually has no idea what exactly goes into the care and keeping of such a body. He’s certainly never had one even vaguely resembling it. How much does Jackson have to work out to maintain his muscles? Does he eat a special diet, or is he one of those people who can eat whatever they want with no thought to their waistline whatsoever? Jinyoung’s head reels with questions and anxiety. This is just one topic, among hundreds that they need to cover in order to appear convincingly in a relationship, and they only have thirty minutes to do so. Even with another dinner break visit like this, they may not get enough done. Jinyoung shakes his mind firmly out of his daydreams. He promised Jackson he would help him out, and he intends to do so, to the best of his ability. There’s no time to waste.

“You could probably start by telling me about your kids,” Jinyoung says, hoping to get as much of their story established as possible before he has to head back inside and put his brain back to work on other things.

“Oh, yeah, that’s a good idea,” Jackson laughs, eyes going soft. “Yugyeom and Bambam.” He sets his cup on the bench beside him, digs his phone out of his pocket, and unlocks it, revealing his background to be a picture of Jackson with two boys at what appears to be a costume shop, all three wearing oversized sunglasses and goofy wigs and grinning wildly into the camera. Jackson chuckles at the image and holds it up for Jinyoung to see. “Last Halloween,” he says with a proud grin, before lowering the phone and opening his photo album. “Actually, let me find a better picture of them, so you can see what they look like…”

As Jackson flicks through his phone, Jinyoung lets his gaze drift. Cars speed by on the street beyond the bronze arch, headlights blurring until they’re only streaks of brightness. Even though the garden is supposed to be a relaxing place for patients, the proximity of a major road doesn’t exactly allow it to be a truly peaceful atmosphere. Jinyoung likes coming out here, though. The sounds of traffic are just numbing enough that he can relax for a few minutes, and it’s always empty this time of night.

Well, usually empty, Jinyoung mentally corrects himself, as he sees two figures turn the corner and pass under the arch. It’s not just unusual, though--Jinyoung has never seen another soul in this garden at night, and it’s enough to keep his attention while Jackson continues searching his phone for a photo. The figures pass under a streetlight, and Jinyoung can tell that they’re male, and young, one small enough to be a middle schooler. At first Jinyoung is concerned--only kids who are looking to make trouble are out alone at this time on a weeknight--but the nervous set of the kids’ shoulders and the way their eyes keep cutting in Jinyoung’s direction gives them away. Jinyoung feels his body tense as the realization hits him. The kids duck just out of the light and come to a stop, attempting to look casual as they continue glancing conspicuously in the direction of Jinyoung and Jackson’s bench.

“Let me guess, one is short and one is tall and they’re like… fourteen or so?” Jinyoung guesses, narrowing his eyes at the boys. The tall one shoves the short one into a bush, probably in an attempt to hide, but it just results in a loud yelp that draws Jackson’s attention away from his phone.

“Yeah, how did you…” Jackson trails off as he looks in the direction of the noise, squinting so hard that Jinyoung wonders if he needs glasses. Jackson stands up abruptly as the taller boy dives into the bush after his brother. There’s the sound of some branches snapping and plenty of rustling, then some loud whispering, then silence. Jackson huffs out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh minus the amusement and looks down at his phone. He taps a few buttons and then holds it up to his ear, watching the bush intently.

Even from across the garden, Jinyoung can see the blue glow of a phone screen lighting up from within the bush. Even if he hadn’t been able to see it, he would still have been able hear the loud hip-hop ringtone that blares out, resulting in a panicked shriek and a lot more branches snapping. Jinyoung doesn’t have much time to find the humor in the situation, though, because Jackson is storming across the garden to the source of the noise, phone still held to his ear like he forgot it was there.

Jinyoung stays on the bench for a moment, takes a few sips of his coffee, which is already almost cold, and watches as Jackson hauls two teenage boys out of the bush by the collars of their jackets. He’s just wondering exactly how much Jackson exercises, because those boys are still young, of course, but they’re growing, and one of them is already taller than Jackson, and yet Jackson yanks them around like they weigh nothing. Jinyoung’s mind drifts a little bit, imagining Jackson shirtless and sweaty, doing bicep curls and grunting with the effort, so it’s entirely not his fault that he doesn’t have much time to think about the potentially awkward situation that will occur if Jackson brings the kids over to meet him when they haven’t even gotten their story straight yet.

The potentially awkward situation that’s becoming less potential and more inevitable, as Jackson pushes the boys in Jinyoung’s direction, and they head over, feet dragging, with Jackson trailing behind looking like a textbook disappointed parent. It’s the first time Jinyoung has really thought about Jackson _parenting,_ though, for all the daydreaming Jinyoung has done about him, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make something tighten longingly in his chest. Jinyoung doesn’t have much time to analyze that deeply fucked up reaction, though, because the trio has arrived in front of him, and he finally has the chance to get a good look at them.

The smaller one looks a few years younger at first glance, with round cheeks and skinny limbs that just scream pre-pubescent, but then Jinyoung remembers that Jackson said they’re both first-year high school students. Unfortunate for the smaller one, then, that he looks so much younger when they’re actually the same age. He makes up for his size with confidence, though: defiantly set shoulders and dark, piercing eyes blatantly challenge Jinyoung right off the bat. Jinyoung likes him already. The taller one keeps his gaze firmly trained on his shoes, remorse and embarrassment clear in his posture. He has fluffy hair that’s overdue for a trim and adds to the air of childlike innocence about him. Jinyoung stands and looks back and forth between them, and is struck by just how young they seem. The way Jackson talked about them made them seem much older than they are, but with them standing in front of him, Jinyoung is reminded that these are actual children, that he has to impress. He’s never been very good at that.

“Well, what do you have to say for yourselves?” Jackson asks, poking each of them between their shoulder blades and making them wince.

“We’re sorry for spying,” the taller one says, still not looking up. The shorter one continues staring until Jackson pokes him again.

“Yeah, sorry,” he mutters, clearly not sorry at all.

A tense silence falls over the group, in which Jinyoung looks back and forth between the two boys and waits for someone to say something more, like an introduction maybe. Jackson clears his throat, and Jinyoung looks up to see him making a complicated face that he takes to mean, _say something already._

“Oh, uh, yeah, it’s fine,” Jinyoung says, waving a hand.

“No, it’s not fine,” Jackson says pointedly, walking around the boys to stand at Jinyoung’s side. “It’s rude and against their curfew and they’re both grounded for a month, at least.”

The boys whine in unison, and the taller one looks up finally, giving Jinyoung his first glimpse of gentle eyes and a strong jaw.

“You can’t blame them for being curious, Jackson… ah,” Jinyoung says, adding the affectionate suffix as an afterthought that he hopes no one notices. Jackson notices, of course, and looks surprised momentarily, before carefully schooling his expression and turning back to the kids, who are showcasing their best pitiful looks.

“Yes, I can!” Jackson insists. “What were you thinking, going out alone on a school night?” The smaller one opens his mouth, but Jackson holds out a hand, cutting him off before he can get a word out. “I swear to God, Bam, if you make up some ridiculous story I will take your phone away, don’t test me.” The boy’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click. “You guys thought you could spy on me, huh? Is that it? You find out I’m seeing someone and suddenly all the rules go out the window?”

Jackson keeps talking, getting worked up and gesticulating forcefully, and Jinyoung can’t help but be impressed. He thinks that Jackson could probably argue just about anything with believable fervor, if he put his mind to it. The smaller boy--Bambam, Jackson called him--is busy eyeing Jinyoung critically, apparently tuning Jackson out completely. The taller boy, Yugyeom, Jinyoung deduces by process of elimination, is back to staring at the ground as though he wishes the earth would swallow him up.

“Didn’t I promise you would get to meet him? Did you think I would go back on my promise?” Jackson asks. His lectures seem to consist entirely of questions he doesn’t actually want to hear an answer to, Jinyoung reflects with amusement.

“So introduce us,” Bambam interrupts, tearing his eyes away from Jinyoung to puff his chest out in Jackson's direction. Jinyoung would be impressed--the kid’s got balls, to interrupt Jackson mid-rant like that--if he weren't oddly reminded of a viral video he once saw of a small dog trying to intimidate a black bear. Needless to say, the bear was not impressed.

Jackson’s only response to being interrupted is an affronted gasp. Jinyoung has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

“You said we could meet him, and he’s here and we’re here. Introduce us,” Bambam insists. He narrows his eyes at Jinyoung. “Why are you meeting at the hospital? What are you, a doctor?”

“Respiratory therapist,” Jinyoung corrects, a knee-jerk reaction. It’s enough to snap Jackson out of his shock at being interrupted by his wayward child.

“Fine,” Jackson sniffs. He grabs Jinyoung’s hand. “This is Park Jinyoung. My boyfriend.”

Between the hand-holding and the sound of his name bathed in Jackson’s voice, Jinyoung is having trouble appearing calm and collected. He clears his throat and manages to squeak out a weak “yes,” which is probably not enough but it’s all he’s capable of doing at the moment.

“How long have you been together?” Bambam asks. Yugyeom’s face re-appears, flushed red from the scolding but clearly interested in the answer.

“A month,” Jackson says quickly.

“How did you meet?” Yugyeom asks, eyes wide and curious. Jackson squeezes Jinyoung's hand, and Jinyoung looks over to see him widen his eyes and incline his head in a clear indication to speak.

“Jackson came to the hospital while I was working and we met here,” Jinyoung says the first plausible thing that comes to mind. It was the wrong thing to say, apparently, because both boys suddenly seem upset.

“Really?” Bambam asks, seemingly torn between doubt and disappointment.

“You were sick and you didn’t tell us?” Yugyeom asks, looking for all the world as though Jackson has broken some iron-clad promise by falling ill.

“It was just food poisoning,” Jackson explains quickly. “No big deal.”

“I knew something was wrong!” Yugyeom whines. “You shouldn’t have eaten that expired yogurt, hyung!”

“Well I couldn’t let it go to waste, could I?”

Jinyoung can’t help but laugh at that, releasing Jackson’s hand in the process to bring his own up to his mouth to stifle the sound. Jackson looks at him and smiles slowly, and for a moment it’s just like they’re back in the bar, just the two of them talking until the sun comes up. Jackson always seems smug at having made Jinyoung laugh, and this is no different. Jinyoung shoves Jackson’s shoulder with his own. Jackson shoves back.

“Eww, please stop,” Bambam groans, effectively ruining the tender moment. “You’re being gross.”

“Well if you didn’t want to see this you shouldn’t have followed me,” Jackson snaps, and Bambam finally looks cowed. Took him long enough. Still, Jinyoung is slightly mortified that he let himself slip like that. It probably played well into the fantasy they’re building, but as Jackson watches him nervously out of the corner of his eye, he can’t help but wonder if Jackson is doubting his ability to stay detached.

“I actually should get back to work,” Jinyoung says, attempting to bring the conversation back to a safely neutral place. He checks his watch. He only has five minutes left of his break, and they definitely didn’t get anything accomplished by way of developing a backstory.

“You visited him while he was working?” Yugyeom asks, voice going a little squeaky, like he’s talking to a baby animal. “Aww, hyung!”

“Lame,” Bambam scoffs.

“Enough!” Jackson barks. He points in the direction of the bronze arch. “Go wait over there while I say goodbye to Jinyoung.”

The boys shuffle away begrudgingly, Bambam with another impressively suspicious glance and Yugyeom with a quietly mumbled “nice to meet you.” As soon as they’re out of earshot, Jackson turn to Jinyoung, looking remorseful.

“I am so sorry about this, Jinyoung-ssi,” Jackson says, passing a hand over his face as though to wipe his embarrassment away.

“It’s fine,” Jinyoung says, because it is. It was unexpected, sure, but they held it together well enough. It could have gone a lot worse, that’s for sure.

“No, it’s not,” Jackson sighs. “You didn’t sign up to be ambushed by a couple of obnoxious teenagers. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” Jinyoung assures, feeling preternaturally confident, for the situation at hand. “They’re not obnoxious at all. A little precocious, sure, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“They won’t quit here, though,” Jackson says, lowering his voice and cutting his eyes in the direction of the two boys, who aren’t even pretending not to stare. “They’re not going to stop until they know everything about you. Trust me, precocious doesn’t even begin to cover it.” Jackson runs a hand through his hair, tugging firmly at it until it stands up in odd directions. His eyes lose their focus as he gets more and more worked up, apparently foreseeing future problems that Jinyoung doesn’t know the kids well enough to fathom. “They’re probably going to insist that you come over to visit, and then they’ll corner you, and interrogate you within an inch of your life, and you won’t even be able to escape because that would be rude and you’re so polite that you would never--”

“Woah, slow down,” Jinyoung says, reaching out and grasping Jackson’s shoulder firmly. Jackson’s eyes regain their focus, and he looks up at Jinyoung in surprise, as though he’d momentarily forgotten where he was.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Jackson says, raising a hand to cover his mouth, presumably in horror at his diatribe. His face is creased with worry, and it sets something twisting sympathetically in Jinyoung’s chest.

“It’s fine. We’ll just take it one day at a time, okay?” Jinyoung asks, giving Jackson’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before dropping his hand. Jackson catches his hand as it falls, and grasps it between both of his own.

“I don’t know how I can thank you enough,” Jackson says earnestly, gripping Jinyoung’s cold hand between his own warm ones. That fluttery feeling is back in Jinyoung’s chest, setting up an unstable rhythm in his heart and making him feel as if his skin is flushed all the way from his toes to the roots of his hair. Jackson’s undivided attention is a powerful thing, Jinyoung is realizing--heady and easily addictive. Even knowing that Jackson is only doing it for show doesn’t clear the swimmy feeling from Jinyoung’s brain. It takes a chorus of giggles from the boys to break him out of it.

“I really have to get back to work now,” Jinyoung says, carefully extracting his hand from Jackson’s grip. Jackson releases him immediately and steps back, looking abashed.

“Right! Of course!”

There’s a beat of silence, when Jinyoung realizes that a couple would probably hug at this point, and he panics slightly. He probably should hug Jackson--they’re trying to sell this as the real deal, after all, and the boys are probably watching intently for any ways to trip them up. Jinyoung sucks in a deep breath, takes a step closer, and uses the hand Jackson just released to pull him by the back of the neck into a hug.

Jinyoung must be imagining the soft, surprised sound that escapes from Jackson, because almost immediately strong arms are wrapping around his middle, pulling him in tightly. This close, Jinyoung can smell Jackson’s cologne, can feel the warmth of Jackson’s body against his own, and it’s enough to set his heart thumping loudly in his chest. The fear that Jackson could feel his pounding pulse is what makes Jinyoung pull out of the embrace, deliberately avoiding eye contact as he does so.

“Well, I’ll see you later then,” Jinyoung says, ducking his head and slipping past Jackson toward the entrance of the hospital.

“I’ll text you!” Jackson calls, and Jinyoung waves a hand in salute as he walks, unable to wipe the grin from his face or shake the intoxicating feeling of weightlessness from his mind. He spends the rest of his shift in a blur, feeling as though at any moment he could slip from the ground and fly.


	6. Are you sure you want to hear more? What if I ain't worth the while?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "That's Me" by ABBA

Jackson jerks awake at a loud banging that sounds like it’s right on top of him. He sits up and looks around, slowly becoming aware that he’s on the couch in their living room, where he must have fallen asleep after getting home from work in the afternoon. It was a long day, and it’s been an even longer week, and he must have passed out as soon as he got home. He checks the clock on the wall, and has to rub at his sandy eyes and squint, just to be sure. It’s nearly ten o’clock at night. He needs to get up and get ready for work at the bar.

The night shifts have been wearing him down, to the point where he doesn’t even remember anymore what it feels like not to be tired. He doesn’t actually remember how he got home from work today, either, which is more than a little frightening. As he yawns so wide his jaw pops, he considers calling Mark and asking for the night off, maybe getting some real sleep for once. The thought is banished almost as quickly as it appeared; he could never bail on Mark like that, besides the fact that Jinyoung agreed to meet him tonight to work on their story some more. Recalling that particular piece of information reminds him about why he’s working so hard in the first place--for Yugyeom and Bambam. No, he definitely can’t take the night off, even though the thought of staying curled up on the couch and watching a movie with the kids makes him want it so much it hurts a little. It was foolish to even consider it.

Besides, Jackson reminds himself with a swell of inner guilt, the boys haven’t been taking any breaks, either. They spend all day at school, and then most evenings at dance practices and cram sessions, often just getting home at the same time as Jackson on the nights he works at the call center. The kids crash hard almost as soon as their heads hit the pillow, but in the short spaces of time that Jackson actually sees them, they seem content. Tired, but purposefully so, and with that radiance that only comes from the feeling of a job well done. They’re working hard and they’re proud of themselves for it, and Jackson likes to think that maybe they’ve inherited a bit of their work ethic from him. Unfortunately, they’ve also inherited his (frankly, self-destructive) style of caring, and if they found out about the things he was doing to give them the chance to thrive, they would surely retaliate with their own sacrifices to even the proverbial score.

He also isn’t sure he’d be able to survive the looks on their faces if he told them what was really going on between Jinyoung and himself. They’ve seemed impossibly happier in the few days since meeting Jinyoung--watching Jackson with dopey smiles when they think he’s not looking and whispering between themselves, only to shush each other and grin at him whenever he enters a room--and he just doesn’t have the heart to come clean about it. He thinks the guilt of lying to them might be slowly suffocating him, but if the choice is between him feeling like he can breathe easily and them smiling, he’ll always choose the latter. Respiration is overrated anyways.

Right now he needs to stop wallowing in his own exhaustion and check out that banging noise, which he completely forgot about until it startles him again, making him jump near out of his skin. The clanging sound of metal hitting metal is immediately followed by the unmistakeable sound of one teenage boy obnoxiously shushing another. Jackson hauls himself up off the couch, groaning at the pops and creaks that emanate from his weary body at the movement, and shuffles into the kitchen, squinting reflexively at the bright light.

“What are you two doing?” Jackson asks, squinting at Yugyeom and Bambam, who are at the kitchen sink with their backs to him. The floor is covered in water, and when the boys turn around, so are their clothes. The sink is overflowing with bubbles, and the dish rack next to it is piled high with glistening bowls and cups.

“The dishes,” Bambam says, as a pot slips from his soapy grasp and bangs against the side of the sink, making Jackson wince. Ah, so that’s where the sound was coming from.

“Sorry for waking you,” Yugyeom says, wiping his hands off on a dish towel as Bambam continues to struggle to rinse off the pot and tame the bubble eruption that’s only expanding, slowly consuming his skinny arms. Knowing they mean well is the only thing making Jackson bite his tongue from scolding them, even as he watches a wave of bubbles spill out of the sink and onto the floor. He’s too tired to clean it up himself, and too tired to make them clean it up, and the floor needed to be washed anyways. If there’s one thing he’s learned since becoming a parent, it’s to appreciate voluntary cleaning when it happens, even if it occasionally also makes a mess.

“It’s fine, I needed to get up anyways,” Jackson says, slumping into a chair at the kitchen table and putting his face in his hands. Even though it was a massive waste of time, the impromptu nap felt good. Waking up from it is proving more difficult than he imagined, though. He stays still for too long and drifts off slightly, his head slipping out of his hands before he jerks himself upright. When he looks up, Yugyeom is sitting across the table from him, watching him intently, concern creeping across his features like a shadow. Jackson waves reassuringly in Yugyeom’s direction, slaps his face a few times, and clears his throat, doing his best to shake off the fog of sleep. “Did you guys eat?”

The boys nod.

“Did you eat ramen?”

Another nod, this time with eyes cast guiltily to the side. Jackson sighs. One of these days, someone is going to call child protective services on him for malnourishing his kids. Even though the way they’ve been growing like weeds will be proof to the contrary, he still feels guilty. Kids should eat vegetables, and not the kind that are so dehydrated that they’re indistinguishable from their natural counterparts.

“How was school?” Jackson asks as he hauls himself out of the chair with another, slightly quieter, symphony of cracking joints, and heads to the fridge to find something to eat before he needs to leave. He’s not hungry, but he will be by the time he really wakes up, and by then he’ll be at the bar and it’ll be too late. He knows there’s some day-old rice in there, he can probably just heat that up and he’ll be fine.

“Jungkook invited us to go bowling,” Yugyeom says, as Jackson digs through the fridge.

“I ate the rice, if that’s what you’re looking for,” Bambam interjects, nudging Jackson’s butt aside so he can get past. Jackson bites back a disgruntled moan. He should know better than to expect leftovers to last more than thirty minutes in a house with teenage boys. Jackson shoves half-empty containers of expired food aside, looking for something--anything--to prevent his stomach from growling an hour from now. He discovers enough ingredients to cobble together a sandwich of some kind, so that will have to do.

“Who’s Jungkook?” Jackson asks absentmindedly, piling his arms full of containers and dumping them on the counter. The only bread they have left is the two end pieces (also known as “designated parent rations”), and he’s pretty sure the cheese will be okay if he cuts off the moldy parts. He’s so focused on his task that he gets halfway through the construction of his sandwich before he realizes that it’s quiet in the kitchen. He turns around, and the boys are at the table, wearing matching unhappy expressions. “What?”

“We’ve told you about Jungkook like, a dozen times,” Bambam says, and Jackson is pretty sure he’s not imagining the accusation in his tone. “Weren’t you listening at all?”

“I was listening!” Jackson protests, sandwich momentarily forgotten. He wracks his brain for a bit, trying to dredge up through the fog of exhaustion everything he was really only half paying attention to, when the kids talked about their classmates. “Jungkook… He’s the dancer from Busan, right? The cute one?”

Bambam shoots Yugyeom a dirty look. Yugyeom looks mortified.

“You’ve never even met him!” Yugyeom squawks, ears turning red. “How do _you_ know he’s cute?”

“Educated guess,” Jackson says with a shrug, turning back to his sandwich to hide his satisfied smirk. A parent learns just as much from what isn’t said by their kids as what is, Jackson reflects, recalling through the fog of exhaustion several one-sided conversations in which Yugyeom waxed poetic about the talented dancer with the accent that everyone in school wants to befriend. Since school began, Yugyeom has talked almost compulsively about how cool Jungkook is, how all the girls stare at him, how he’s actually really funny once Yugyeom got to know him. Jackson can’t quite figure out if it’s infatuation or envy, but either way, it’s damn adorable. “Go on, what about bowling?”

“Jungkook invited just me and Bambam, but Bambam wants to invite Mingyu, too,” Yugyeom says, irritation coloring his tone. There’s definitely something going on there, Jackson reflects, as he smashes his sandwich together and puts it on a plate. Better to let Yugyeom figure it out for himself, though.

“So?” Jackson asks, bringing his plate over to the table and taking a seat. “Why not?”

“Jungkook doesn’t even _know_ Mingyu,” Yugyeom says, like that’s supposed to explain everything. Bambam rolls his eyes.

“And?” Jackson asks around a full mouth, genuinely not getting Yugyeom’s point. What does it matter if the two boys know each other? It’s one night of bowling. It’s not like it’s a weekend in Jeju.

“What if they don’t get along, and then Jungkook doesn’t want to hang out with us anymore, because he thinks Mingyu will always be there?” Yugyeom asks, a frown turning down the corners of his mouth as he talks. His ears are still red from earlier, Jackson notes smugly. The boy is about as opaque as cellophane.

“Or what if Jungkook and Mingyu get along great, and you have even more friends?”

“I guess that could happen, too,” Yugyeom grumbles. “But it might go really bad, and then we’ll wind up with no friends at all.”

“If that happens, they weren’t meant to be your friends in the first place,” Jackson says, shrugging. Both boys roll their eyes at that, but Jackson is too distracted by a glance at the kitchen clock to find the humor in their trademark synchronicity. He only has thirty minutes before he needs to leave, if he’s going to make it to the bar on time. He redoubles his efforts to consume his sandwich.

“You always say that,” Bambam gripes, leaning his chin heavily on one hand.

“It’s true,” Jackson says, through a full mouth, trying to swallow around too much food at once. Chewing is for the weak. “Friends that are that shallow aren’t good friends to have.”

“But Jungkook is the coolest guy in our grade,” Yugyeom says, as if baffled by the concept that cool and shallow are not mutually exclusive.

“I think you’re giving Jungkook too much credit,” Jackson says, popping the last of his sandwich in his mouth and standing, grabbing his plate to take to the sink. He pauses, thinking about the situation for a moment. “Or maybe not enough credit? Pitch the idea to him at lunch. He probably wants new friends just as much as you do, if what you said about him being here alone is true.”

“I told you so,” Bambam mutters, slumping down in his seat and looking smug.

“No one likes a smartass, Bam,” Jackson sighs as he turns to walk to the sink, deliberately pretending not to see the way Yugyeom sticks his tongue out, and Bambam draws a finger menacingly across his throat. He scrubs the plate, and fights back the involuntary droop of his eyelids as another wave of fatigue washes over him. His fingers feel clumsy and numb as he rinses the plate and shoves it into the tower of dishes, somehow managing to get it onto the rack without causing an avalanche. He turns back to the boys, who are busy escalating the situation with silent, threatening gestures at each other, and rubs a weary hand over his face. If the fatigue isn’t the death of him, these boys might just be. “Cut it out, guys. Did you both finish your homework?”

The boys give up trying to intimidate each other and turn to Jackson, nodding in unison. It used to make Jackson laugh when they did that. Lately, it seems like he’s too tired to do anything but scold them. Another wave of guilt washes over him when he realizes that he can’t even remember the last time they had an interaction in which he wasn’t chastising them. He feels like he’s barely talked to them since school started, and even when they do talk, it’s usually either to enforce rules or deny their requests for spending money. Now is not the time to analyze his failures as a parent, though. There’ll be time to wallow in regret later.

“Time for bed then. It’s already… _ten forty-five?”_ Jackson cusses under his breath. He has to be at the bar by eleven, and it takes a solid ten minutes to drive there. He shoos the boys out of the kitchen, hoping his worry about getting out of the apartment quickly reads as worry about them getting to bed at a reasonable hour. “Go on, get ready for bed. And don’t think I don’t know that you’ve been skipping brushing your teeth, Gyeom-ah. Don’t make me be that dick parent that has to check your breath.”

Yugyeom whines as he goes to their room, pausing to shove Bambam into the wall when Bambam cackles at him. Luckily it doesn’t escalate into a full-blown fight, and Jackson can hear the boys talking about bowling as he creeps past their room and into his own a moment later. It continues to amaze Jackson that they can act like they hate each other one minute and then be best friends again the next. Teenagers, right? What bizarre creatures.

Jackson finds his phone on the bedside table, checks it for the time (ten forty-eight), and finds a text from Jinyoung from several hours ago, asking for confirmation for their meeting tonight. He types out a hasty reply in the affirmative and strips out of his work clothes, digging a pair of jeans and a hoodie out of the top of his hamper because he was supposed to do laundry this afternoon but he slept through all that valuable time like an _idiot._ The clothes pass the sniff test, so he’ll just have to cross himself and pray that the lighting in the bar is dim enough that no one looks too closely at his outfit. He stumbles through yanking the jeans on, and just as he’s tugging his hoodie over his head, his bedroom door slams open, scaring him so bad he thinks his heart stops momentarily. Bambam stands in the doorway, an eyebrow raised critically.

“What are you doing?”

“Jeez, Bam, you could warn a guy,” Jackson says, placing a hand on his chest, where his heart has resumed beating, now at a frantic, pounding pace. He bravely shakes off the shock and heads to his dresser, where he finds a single pair of clean socks, thank _God._ Bambam watches him with pursed lips as Jackson sits on the bed to pull his socks on. Jackson makes an attempt to distract from his own suspicious actions by pointing out Bambam’s rude ones. “Since when is it okay not to knock? I could’ve been doing anything in here!”

“Since you’re acting weird,” Bambam says, shrugging a shoulder as if to say _nothing I haven’t seen before._ He tilts his head to one side, and his eyes seem to bore holes in Jackson’s sweatshirt. Belatedly and with great chagrin, Jackson crosses his arms over his chest in a futile attempt to hide his change of clothes. Bambam narrows his eyes. “Are you going somewhere?”

“No,” Jackson says reflexively, then bites his tongue. Of course he’s going somewhere, any idiot could see that, and Bambam is no idiot. But where is a good enough excuse? “I was just… going to Mark’s, to hang out.”

Bambam crosses his arms, clearly unimpressed. “You didn’t tell us you were going to Uncle Mark’s place tonight.”

“Last minute thing,” Jackson says, waving a hand in the air dismissively. He heads over to his nightstand, collects his wallet and cellphone, and turns around, fully intending to slip past Bambam with no more explanation required. Of course, because Jackson has the worst luck in the entire universe, Yugyeom is now in the doorway too, watching the proceedings curiously. Jackson sighs and rubs a hand over his face, hopefully covering the worst of his dishonest ticks. “He’s lonely. You know how he gets.”

“No I don’t,” Bambam protests, but Jackson is already pushing past them out of his room and heading to the bathroom, where he grabs his toothbrush, making note of the fact that Yugyeom’s toothbrush is wet, so at least he’s pretending to have brushed his teeth, which is progress enough for today. As he sets to work brushing his own teeth, he catches sight of the two boys in the bathroom mirror. They’re hovering in the doorway, whispering to each other with occasional suspicious glances directed Jackson’s way.

“You didn’t say anything about going somewhere tonight,” Yugyeom speaks up, and there’s definitely a little bit of whine in his tone. Jackson takes his sweet time rinsing and spitting, trying to think of the best way to casually play this off. He’s already feeling guilty about spending less time with them than he should, and if Yugyeom asks him to stay, with the puppy dog eyes and the pouting, he won’t be able to refuse.

“I didn’t know I was going somewhere tonight, either,” Jackson lies through his minty-fresh teeth. “Listen, I’ll be back later, okay? You both better be in bed by eleven, got it?”

“Are you going to see your _boyfriend?”_ Bambam asks, and Jackson feels his face begin to heat, partly at the implication in Bambam’s tone and partly because he can't believe he actually forgot his rock-solid excuse, the perfect cover-up for all of his overworking needs.

“What? Oh, umm… no?”

“You are!” Yugyeom exclaims, face suddenly beaming, bouncing on his toes. His tone turns taunting. “You’re so shy about it!”

“Why did you lie? If you want to _get some--”_ Bambam makes an incomprehensible hand gesture that Jackson assumes means something crude “--just say so.”

“Please never do that again,” Jackson says, deliberately avoiding eye contact in the hope that Bambam won’t see how flustered Jackson is getting and become even more smug. He grabs his deodorant and uncaps it, biting back a frustrated groan to see it almost gone, rubbed down to the plastic. Downside to living with teenage boys #738942: they always use his fucking deodorant. He buys them their own and they _still_ use his. Why? How does that make sense?

“We understand that you have needs,” Bambam says, unembarrassed. Yugyeom nods in confirmation, only slightly embarrassed.

“Believe it or not, Bam, relationships are not always just about sex,” Jackson says, stuffing the empty deodorant under his shirt anyways, wincing at the scrape of plastic and hoping enough of the actual product gets on his skin to make a difference. “And stop using my deodorant!” He shakes the empty stick at the boys’ noses before tossing it in the trash. “What happened to your own? Did you eat it?”

“Left it at school,” Bambam says with a shrug, at the same time Yugyeom mumbles something about “can't find mine.” Jackson lets loose another sigh, fatigue-fogged brain too busy wondering how exactly a person manages to _lose_ a stick of deodorant to lecture them about expenses and personal hygiene.

“You’re meeting your boyfriend and you’re wearing _that?”_ Bambam asks, judgment oozing in his tone.

“What’s wrong with this?” Jackson asks, looking at himself in the mirror. Sure, the sweatshirt is kind of old, and there’s a little stain on the pouch, but it smells fine (well, passably fine, with the barest hint of deodorant underneath it) and paired with jeans it looks... casual? Cool? At least he thought it did, but now the unimpressed scrunch to Bambam’s nose has him doubting himself. He crosses his arms self-consciously. “Besides, Jinyoung knows what I wear. He’s never complained.”

“It’s a wonder you got a boyfriend at all, with the way you dress,” Bambam says, rolling his eyes and grabbing Jackson by the wrist. He drags him back to Jackson’s room, where he shoves Jackson down on the bed and throws open the closet, humming thoughtfully.

“I really don’t have time for a makeover, Bam,” Jackson grouses, even as Yugyeom flops down on his belly on the bed next to him, grinning.

“Your lover can wait ten minutes,” Bambam scoffs from where he’s half-crawled into the closet. “Why do you own so many t-shirts?”

“So when are we gonna get to see him again?” Yugyeom asks, kicking his legs in excitement.

“We were going to talk about that tonight, actually,” Jackson tells the truth for once, pulling out his phone to check the time (ten fifty-five, shit) and pretending to be engrossed in it. They _are_ going to talk about the next (and hopefully, last) meeting between Jinyoung and the boys, after all. They’re also going to talk about their elaborate lie, which is the part that’s making Jackson’s insides squirm unhappily. He hates lying to his kids.

“Tell us more about him!” Yugyeom says, poking Jackson’s side playfully.

“Guys, I really don’t have time for this,” Jackson whines, cutting his eyes to the door in an attempt not to see the pout Yugyeom gives him.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Bambam chides, emerging with a button-down shirt and some khaki pants. He thrusts them at Jackson. “Here.”

“You want me to wear this?” Jackson asks, holding up the shirt to inspect it. It’s the one he bought the last time his parents visited, more than a year ago. He wore it once to take them out to a nice dinner and hasn’t worn it since. It’s not his style at all, but his mom had loved it, cooing at him and brushing imaginary lint off the shoulders. If he shows up wearing that, Mark will tease him relentlessly.

“It’ll look good, trust me,” Bambam says. “Go on, put it on.”

Jackson sighs heavily but obliges, yanking off his (okay actually not at all clean) sweatshirt and shrugging into the shirt.

“Where’s he from?” Yugyeom asks, while Jackson struggles to button the thing. Why did he buy a shirt with such tiny buttons? Once it’s on, he notices an excess of fabric around his middle, billowing loosely in a way he could’ve sworn it didn’t the last time he wore it. He’d be proud of his weight loss, if it weren’t completely accidental. That’s what happens when you’re too busy to eat healthy… or at all. His mother would be appalled.

“Seoul,” Jackson lies, shucking off his jeans. He doesn’t actually know where Jinyoung is from, but his foreign ears haven’t noticed an accent, so he figures it’s a safe guess. He slips into the pants (yep, definitely looser) as Bambam plops onto the bed next to Yugyeom and begins kicking his legs in tandem with Yugyeom’s. They look like a couple of preteen girls at a sleepover, trading hot gossip.

“What’s his family like?”

“Okay, time to go,” Jackson says, hastily tucking his shirt into his pants to hopefully hide the worst of the loose fabric. He looks at himself in the full-length mirror on the back of his door. With the shirt tucked in, he doesn’t look scrawny at all. Actually, he looks pretty good, but not at all like himself. He holds back another heavy sigh. Mark’s never gonna let him hear the end of this one.

“Remember, if he only loves you for your body, he doesn’t really love you,” Bambam says. Jackson chokes on air.

“I dunno… Jinyoung-ssi didn’t seem like the type to do that,” Yugyeom says thoughtfully.

“Sometimes it’s the ones who seem the most vanilla that get down the weirdest,” Bambam says sagely.

“Oh my God, where are you hearing this stuff?” Jackson groans, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels. He gathers his cell phone and wallet from his jeans on the floor and heads to the front door. The kids jump off the bed and trail behind him. “Is this what they’re teaching you in that fancy school? I will send you back to public school, I swear to God.”

“No, hyung,” Bambam recites, sounding bored. “I learned it on the internet.”

“Are you watching porn?” Jackson frets, attempting to get his shoes and jacket on simultaneously. He’s gonna be _so_ late. “I thought those parental controls I installed were supposed to prevent this.”

“First of all, I’m insulted that you think some parental guidance software is enough to stop me,” Bambam says. “Second of all…” His eyes cut to the side and his mouth quirks mischievously. “...don’t worry about it.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Jackson groans.

“Go have fun with Jinyoung-ssi,” Bambam says, opening the front door and shoving him out of it. Jackson trips the rest of the way into his shoes and turns back, affronted. Bambam grins evilly. “But not too much fun. You still have to work tomorrow, and people will be able to tell if you’re walking funny.”

 _“Oh my God,”_ Jackson wails, fairly certain he’s never been this horrified in his entire life. Bambam is _so_ grounded, just as soon as Jackson regains the presence of thought to think up an adequate sentence. First, he needs to overcome the bone-deep mortification this conversation has caused.

“Why would he be walking funny?” Yugyeom asks, innocent and perplexed.

“I’ll tell you later,” Bambam assures.

“Do NOT--” Jackson attempts to scold, but then the door is being unceremoniously slammed in his face. He stands there for a moment, debating whether it’s worth being even later than he already is to go back into the apartment and give Bambam the dressing-down he deserves for that attitude (not to mention the porn references, really, what the hell was he thinking?). Ultimately he realizes that another lecture will do very little to wipe the smug look off of Bambam’s face, and Mark is going to have his ass for being late anyways, so he heads out, grumbling to himself about obnoxious kids who are better at computers than he is. He says a tiny prayer to whatever cosmic entity might be listening that Bambam will be gracious enough to spare Yugyeom’s innocence for another day. It’s probably a lost cause, but he can dream.

Thirteen minutes later, after hitting every red light between his apartment and the bar and _maybe_ running through one (it was mostly yellow, okay?), Jackson arrives at the bar and enters through the back door, letting it slam shut behind him. He can hear the gentle hum of voices in the bar as he shrugs out of his coat in the back room, chucking it to the side and looking forlornly down at his outfit once more. He looks like a total nerd, an observation which is only confirmed when he turns the corner into the main room and finds not only Mark but also Jinyoung staring at him with curious expressions.

“Excuse me sir, but my friend Jackson was supposed to be here ten minutes ago, have you seen him?” Mark asks, trying but ultimately failing to keep a grin off of his face. Jinyoung’s eyebrows creep steadily up his forehead.

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Jackson grumbles, grabbing a wet rag off a nearby counter and whipping it at Mark, who catches it, giggling.

“What are you wearing?” Mark asks, chucking the rag back at Jackson, who catches it and tosses it aside defeatedly. Mark’s feet tap a happy rhythm on the rungs of his barstool as he gives Jackson’s outfit a once-over, cheeks dimpling with mirth. “You look like you’re going to a job interview. Or your mother is in town.”

“I think it looks nice,” Jinyoung argues, brow furrowed in Mark’s direction. Jackson smiles broadly at him, pleasantly surprised at the praise. Does Jinyoung really like this look on him? Maybe it’s not so bad after all. Mark is just biased against him, anyways; anyone with eyes can see that he’s totally pulling this off. Jackson is just sending a silent apology Bambam’s way when Jinyoung snorts into his hand, and the illusion is shattered. He looks up with mirth-crinkled eyes and waves an apologetic hand at Jackson’s miserable expression. “I’m sorry, I tried.”

This time the wet rag is chucked at Jinyoung, who apparently does not have the greatest reflexes. He doesn’t duck or even make an attempt to catch the thing, which hits him dead in the face with a moist-sounding slap. Jackson freezes, instant regret making him tense. He definitely crossed the line this time. Jinyoung will probably get up and walk out the door, and Jackson will never see him again, all because of his own lack of impulse control. As the rag falls from Jinyoung’s face, however, Jackson sees that he’s laughing, laughing so hard he’s having trouble breathing, and Jackson feels relief flood through him as he joins in, laughter bubbling out of him like water from a fountain. Tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying in his neck and shoulders releases as he looks at the happy faces of Mark and Jinyoung and realizes that he doesn’t have any secrets to keep from them.

“Bambam dressed me,” Jackson explains, once they’ve all caught their breath and calmed down. He runs his hands down the front of his shirt, frowning at the starchy fabric. “He thinks I should put in more effort, now that I have a boyfriend.”

“That’s… kind of adorable, actually,” Jinyoung says, expression thoughtful.

“It’s less adorable when your own kid won’t let you leave the house because he thinks you dress like a slob,” Jackson grouses, reflecting bitterly upon the predatory gleam in Bambam’s eyes as he foisted the outfit on Jackson. If only Jinyoung knew the truth of the matter. Bambam may be cute on the outside, but inside he’s a terror, hell-bent on embarrassing Jackson into an early grave.

“How’s that been going?” Mark asks, tilting his head to the side. “How’ve they been since… you know.” He waves a hand vaguely in Jinyoung’s direction.

“Surprisingly quiet,” Jackson admits, allowing himself to bask in the gratitude of small mercies. They’ve been so busy the past few days, there hasn’t been enough time for a thorough interrogation, like Jackson knows the boys want to have. If it weren’t for the distraction of this whole bowling fiasco with their friends, they probably would have cornered him days ago. Thank God for teenage boys and their short attention spans. “They were pestering me a little bit before I left tonight, but so far they've been surprisingly restrained. Although if Bambam keeps up his attitude, he’s going to get a one-way ticket to grounded for life.” Jackson cringes as he remembers a few of Bambam’s choice phrases. “You would not believe the words that came out of his mouth today.”

“I’m not surprised,” Mark says with a shrug. “He’s always been strong-willed. I can’t imagine he’s thrilled about you dating.”

“Oh, no, not like that,” Jackson says, allowing himself another small moment of relief that Bambam hasn’t exhibited any signs of being displeased with the concept of Jackson dating. “I wish it was just about him being crabby. I know how to handle crabby Bam. This is a whole new level.”

“What did he say?” Jinyoung asks, looking perplexed. Jackson chews on his lip for a moment, debating whether or not to reveal the extent of Bambam’s vulgarity. On one hand, Jinyoung is going to come face-to-face with said vulgarity shortly, so he might as well begin bracing himself for it now. On the other hand, Jackson isn’t entirely sure he can reiterate those words aloud with Jinyoung staring at him with those gorgeous dark eyes and not implode from humiliation.

“Let’s just say… he’s started watching porn, and has a lot to say about it.”

Mark and Jinyoung cringe in unison.

“Yeah. It wasn’t great,” Jackson sighs, leaning wearily against the counter. “To be honest, I don’t know whether to be horrified at the things he was implying that I do, or flattered that he thinks I have the stamina to do them.”

“Horrified, definitely horrified,” Mark says. Jinyoung nods fervently in agreement.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Jackson chuckles. “Either way, he’s got some pretty creative ideas about what Jinyoung and I get up to when I’m not home.”

“Oh,” Jinyoung says, ducking his head and looking a little bit shocked to be reminded at the implications of their particular scheme. And why wouldn’t he be? He probably didn’t think Jackson’s kids would be shameless monsters who openly discuss their adoptive parent’s sexual activities. Jackson’s imagination supplies the blush on Jinyoung’s ears as he looks up, expression curious and uncertain. “Are they going to expect us to be… physically affectionate? In front of them?”

Jackson chews his lip for a moment, thinking how best to proceed. In all honesty, yes, the boys will be suspicious if he doesn’t cling to Jinyoung like the octopus in that ocean documentary Yugyeom forced them all to watch. He hasn’t had any relationships since the boys came into his life, but he’s sure they’re well aware of his overtly physical style of affection, since they’ve been on the receiving end of it often enough.

Since he was a kid, he’s always found that he learns most about a person when contact is made, and frequently so. Normally, he has no problems with getting up close and personal with people he likes, and Jinyoung is a person he likes, even if only in a platonic sense. Something about Jinyoung’s expression, though, about the way he almost seems to squirm a little at the thought of getting close with Jackson, makes Jackson unsure of himself. If he’s being honest, a lot about Jinyoung makes Jackson feel unsure of himself. It’s a strange, manic feeling, like he’s on a runaway train with no brakes, and he isn’t sure if it’s a good one.

“How do you feel about skinship?” Mark asks Jinyoung, coming to the rescue after what must have been an uncomfortably long pause. Jackson would send him a grateful smile, but he’s too busy holding his breath in anticipation of Jinyoung’s answer.

“I’m not opposed,” Jinyoung says, straightening up as though Mark’s question was a challenge. Jackson likes that Jinyoung’s first reaction to intimidation is to square up and face it. He likes it a lot, likes the way it makes him feel a little warm under his stiff collar. Purely because it will come in handy during the kids’ interrogation, of course. No other reason.

“Good, because this one--” Mark hooks a thumb in Jackson’s direction “--has no sense of personal space.”

“If you want me to stop hugging you, just say so, Mark,” Jackson faux-pouts, crossing his arms sulkily over his chest, which is still pounding at Jinyoung’s words. _Not opposed._ What does that mean, exactly?

“Like that would stop you,” Mark chuckles.

“You haven’t overstepped any boundaries,” Jinyoung interrupts, slightly indignantly. Jackson can’t help but laugh. He motions to the bar between them, hoping the action says what he’s thinking, which is _“if it weren’t for this, I would’ve been in your lap weeks ago.”_

“I’m a very… tactile person,” Jackson says instead, choosing his words carefully to avoiding what is quickly becoming his greatest fear: scaring Jinyoung away. “Especially with people I’m close to. The kids will notice right away if we don’t touch.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Jinyoung assures, folding his hands primly on the counter.

Jackson shares a look with Mark, who purses his lips in the way he does that tells Jackson exactly what he’s thinking. Over the years, Jackson has learned to gather information from Mark’s silences as well as he does from everybody else’s speech. This particular look says a mixture of “I’m impressed” and “good luck.”

“Okay then,” Jackson says, shrugging with false bravado, even as his heart thumps unsteadily in his chest. He feels like this moment is significant, even though he’s unsure exactly how. It’s a little bit like the feeling he gets when he runs a red light, or buys something without checking to see if there’s enough money on his card to cover it--exhilarated, but scared, and unsure if the outcome is worth the risk. It doesn’t make sense, though, because there’s no risk involved with touching Jinyoung. At least, there shouldn’t be. He shrugs again, aware that he probably isn’t coming off as casual as he would like to be, and meets Jinyoung’s gaze. “If it doesn’t bother you, I guess I won’t hold back.”

Something strange flashes in Jinyoung’s eyes, something like… eagerness? Determination? Jackson isn’t sure, but it makes the strange feeling in his stomach pulse even more strongly. Before he can really analyze it, Mark is clearing his throat and hauling himself off of the barstool.

“Well, this has been very entertaining, but I really need to get going,” Mark says, standing up from his barstool and taking his car keys off of their usual spot on the cash register. He gives Jackson a half-assed salute. “I leave the bar in your capable hands.”

“Since when am I capable?” Jackson asks, a spike of panic making him grab Mark’s arm to prevent him from leaving. The conversation about skinship has got him all flustered, and he’s worried that he’ll do something stupid and revealing if Mark leaves him alone to fend for himself, with Jinyoung and his serious eyes and apparent lack of personal boundaries. “I’m not capable! I’m uncapable!”

“Incapable,” Jinyoung corrects gently.

“See? I’m so incapable I don’t even know the right words!” Jackson whines. “Are you really going to leave your business in the hands of an uneducated foreigner? You should stay and supervise.”

Mark takes a long moment to look around the bar, which contains a grand total of eight people, themselves included.

“You’ll be fine,” he assures, then shakes off Jackson’s grip before heading to the door. “Just don’t--”

“Burn the place down, I know, I know,” Jackson interrupts, rolling his eyes. Mark leaves, laughing, and Jackson collapses onto Mark’s recently vacated barstool in defeat. “One of these days I _will_ burn the place down. Then he’ll see. Then they’ll _all_ see.”

Jinyoung chuckles, the sound beginning warm but too quickly fading away, and an extended silence passes in which the two of them stare at each other, unsure of how to proceed. Despite all the nights when they talked until the sun came up, there are still times when neither of them knows what to say. Jinyoung lets his gaze drift down to stare at his hands in that way that Jackson has learned to mean he’s feeling uncomfortable. Jackson can hardly blame him; in these moments of awkward silence, it’s hard to forget that for all their posturing and grand schemes, they’re still as good as strangers playing pretend at something greater.

The thought has been taunting Jackson since Jinyoung’s first encounter with the kids--no, since Jinyoung first volunteered to help him out--that this all must be incredibly uncomfortable for him, but he’s doing it anyways, because he’s just that nice. Jackson can hardly fathom that such a genuinely kind and unselfish person exists, who would volunteer his free time to help a loser lie to his kids so they’ll keep going to their dream school. And yet here that person is, sitting across the bar from him at eleven-thirty on a weeknight because he _wanted_ to be here, twiddling his thumbs self-consciously but not at all looking like he wishes he were somewhere else. Jackson is determined to make this as painless as possible for Jinyoung. It’s the least he can do.

“So, how was work?” Jackson asks, knowing perfectly well it’s about as vanilla as a segue can get, but unable to think of anything better.

“It was good,” Jinyoung says, lifting his head with a shrug and a polite smile. “It went quickly.”

“Well… that’s good,” Jackson says, stumped. He honestly expected a longer response than that. Doesn’t everyone on the planet like to bitch about their jobs, when given the opportunity? Isn’t that a universal truth amongst the working masses? Jinyoung is giving him nothing to work with, but he will not be deterred. “Do you like your job?”

“Oh, I love it,” Jinyoung says, and it’s the most enthusiastic Jackson has seen him since the night they met, when Jinyoung was more than a little tipsy. Jackson has noticed that Jinyoung generally tries to keep his emotions contained (a concept that is foreign and baffling to Jackson), so it’s nice to see him with a little spark about him, without the help of alcohol. “I love what I do.”

“What do you love about it?” Jackson probes, hoping for some insight into Jinyoung’s mind, which is a puzzle he’s rapidly becoming determined to solve.

“I just love helping people.” Jinyoung shrugs one shoulder, casts his eyes to the side, clears his throat. “I know it’s a huge cliche, but it’s true.”

If Jackson was looking for any confirmation that Jinyoung is the most perfect person to walk the planet, he just got it. Between Jinyoung’s looks and his saintly personality, Jackson is having a hard time believing an actual angel isn’t seated across the bar from him. Does Jinyoung do anything selfishly? Has he ever in his life done something that didn’t have benefitting someone else as its primary goal?

“It’s not a cliche,” Jackson assures, when he realizes that he’s let the silence go on too long again. Damn, he’s really off his game tonight. It isn’t even due to sleep deprivation this time, either, so it must be… No. He quickly wracks his brain for conversation topics, before his brain wanders into the tightly locked territory labeled Things That Make Me Flustered and finds a shrine to Park Jinyoung. “Uh, where are you from?”

“Jinhae.”

“Ah, shit,” Jackson sighs, rolling his neck in an attempt to release the tension that’s building again in his shoulders at the reminder of his elaborate lie. “I told the kids you’re from Seoul.”

Jinyoung shrugs, looking unperturbed at the information. “I could be from Seoul.”

“But don’t they have accents in Jinhae?”

“Do I have an accent to you?” Jinyoung asks, smirking.

“Well… no.”

“Then we’re okay,” Jinyoung says simply, so confident that Jackson can’t find it within himself to argue. “You’re from Hong Kong, right?” Jackson nods. “How did you learn Korean so well?”

“I came here on a college athletic scholarship. I was a fencer.”

“Ah,” Jinyoung nods slowly, understanding lightening his face. “Olympic hopeful, right?”

“How did you know that?” Jackson asks, torn between surprise and suspicion. Has Mark been spreading stories about him? How else would Jinyoung know about that?

“That first night… you mentioned…” Jinyoung trails off, ears coloring again. Jackson imagines he’s probably recollecting Jackson’s state of undress during that conversation and getting embarrassed on Jackson’s behalf. Jackson, who has never been shy about his physique, supposes one of them ought to be.

“I can’t believe you remembered that,” Jackson says, attempting to keep the wonder out of his voice. In all honesty, he’d hoped the alcohol would’ve done a little bit of memory-erasing magic and scrubbed that night from Jinyoung’s mind. Of course, karma has never been so kind to Jackson.

“Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to remember anything I said,” Jinyoung says with a self-deprecating chuckle. Jackson straightens up at the implied challenge.

“Of course I remember. Two sisters, right?” Jackson flatters himself that Jinyoung looks shocked and a little bit pleased. He surprises himself a little bit, too, as facts he didn’t realize he’d memorized tumble out of his mouth. “You’re a fan of ABBA. And your birthday is in September, which makes me older.”

Jinyoung’s surprised look melts into a smirk. “When’s your birthday, then? Since you’re so much older.”

“March twenty-eighth. I’ve got--” Jackson counts quickly on his fingers “--six months on you. Ha!”

“Don’t get cocky,” Jinyoung chides, smiling wryly. “Six months isn’t such a big difference.”

“Oh, yes it is,” Jackson says haughtily. “I was in the world for six whole months before you. Imagine how much I’ve learned in that time. Imagine the wisdom I’ve gained.”

Jinyoung starts laughing, holding his hand over his mouth in that way he always does that’s starting to drive Jackson a little bit crazy, and Jackson can’t help but join in, relieved the atmosphere has lightened again.

“I don’t really think that,” Jackson says after Jinyoung’s stopped laughing. “Bambam is six months older than Yugyeom, and that’s the kind of stuff he says all the time.”

“They seem really close,” Jinyoung notes, looking soft and contemplative again.

“They’re practically joined at the hip, although they would never admit it. They’re at that age where it’s uncool to admit you love your family. Or clean anything, ever.”

“So you’re saying that teenage boys _don’t_ enjoy cleaning? Color me surprised,” Jinyoung says, eyes wide and hand over his chest in fake shock. Jackson feels a little twinge of something he labels as being impressed at Jinyoung’s acting chops. Clearly Jackson chose well when he picked a fake boyfriend (although Jinyoung would probably argue about who picked whom, exactly).

“Ah, I see we have a comedian here today, okay,” Jackson says, instead of what he’s thinking, which is just a long stream of questions about how he got so lucky to have Jinyoung appear in his life and solve his problems like they’re nothing. As Jinyoung smirks again, Jackson shakes his head to clear it of the sentimental sludge that’s building up, and busies himself getting Jinyoung a beer. “What information should we discuss? What do you want to know?

“Well, since we’re supposed to be dating, we ought to know each other’s histories,” Jinyoung says, suddenly business again as he accepts the beer from Jackson with both hands. He takes a sip, and licks the foam from his upper lip, and Jackson has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning aloud. Why does he keep _doing that?_ It’s unbelievably rude. Jinyoung, of course, is completely unaware, as he proceeds stroke his lips thoughtfully. “If you were an Olympic athlete, how did you end up here? You said you teach English, right? I would’ve thought you’d have been a fencing instructor, at least.”

“It’s kind of a long story,” Jackson says, sighing. He doesn’t particularly feel like sharing the whole sordid tale of his past, which he has been told is “a bit of a downer,” (and that’s saying it lightly) but Jinyoung is motioning for him to continue, so he takes a deep breath and dives in, opting for the short version. “I dropped out of college and went back to Hong Kong to train for the Olympics, but about four months before the summer games I was in a car accident that fractured my spine. No more fencing after that.”

“That’s terrible,” Jinyoung says, eyes going soft and pitying. Jackson should be used to it by now--it’s been almost eight years, after all--but for some reason it still stings a little, the pity. Even if it’s well-intentioned, it stings. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“It’s fine,” Jackson says, because it really is, as much as it’s hard to admit sometimes, like when his back is aching and his bank account is empty and his fencing equipment gathers dust in the storage unit in the basement of their apartment building. It’s fine because his current life has more love in it than any future he could have imagined back then, when he was young and cocky and had no idea what love really meant. “It gave me the chance to meet the boys, after all.”

Jackson leaves out the more grisly details: the sheer panic of waking up in a hospital in a back brace, the sounds of his own sobs in his ears when the doctor told him he wouldn’t make it to the Olympics, the numbness that he felt for weeks afterward, as his body stubbornly healed but his mind stubbornly didn’t. After the physical therapy and the lawsuit, he had more money than he knew what to do with, and a body that was in functioning condition but not like the one he had taken for granted his whole life, and he felt useless, and lost. So he went back to Korea, his second home, the only place he could think to go where people didn’t know about his injury, wouldn’t look at him with that sadness in their eyes. He ran away, basically, from his parents and whatever he thought they expected of him. He had spent his whole life preparing for a future that wouldn’t happen, and couldn’t cope. So he did everything he could think to try, to find meaning in his life without fencing. Teaching English brought back a little bit of his spark, but it wasn’t until he started volunteering that he really remembered what happiness feels like.

“I had been volunteering at an orphanage for about three months before they announced that budget cuts were forcing them to close,” Jackson explains, cutting to the chase to save himself from more pitying looks from Jinyoung, who’s listening attentively, beer forgotten. “All the kids were going to be sent to different foster homes, and I just couldn’t stand to see Yugyeom and Bambam split up. They were inseparable, even back then. So I found a bigger apartment, and I filed to become a foster parent, and a year later I adopted them. It took almost all the money that was left from the settlement but it was worth it. And now, five years later, here we are.” Jackson pauses to catch his breath, and marvels a little bit at how much time has passed. “God, I can’t believe it’s actually been five years.”

“They’re lucky to have you,” Jinyoung says softly. Jackson tries not to squirm under the sincerity in his eyes. This conversation always makes him feel vulnerable, no matter who it’s with. Time to bring out the humor to lighten things up.

“Damn straight,” Jackson says, puffing out his chest in a display of false bravado. “Without me, they’d eat ramen for every meal and never brush their teeth.” Jackson pauses, then laughs at himself. “Well, actually, they do that anyways.”

“It must be hard, raising two kids by yourself,” Jinyoung muses, clearly interested in probing Jackson’s soft underbelly for more sentimental moments. Didn’t he get the memo to ease off? Jackson tries humor again, desperate to get out from underneath Jinyoung’s contemplative gaze.

“Oh, it’s the worst. Just today they were fighting over which friends to take bowling. Really riveting stuff.”

“That sounds awful,” Jinyoung says with a smirk, finally seeming to take the hint. “How ever do you cope?”

“I have my ways,” Jackson says loftily, glad to be back to their teasing dynamic. His shoulders relax again as he motions for Jinyoung to speak. “Go on, then. Tell me all your deepest, darkest secrets. It’s only fair.”

They spend the rest of the night like that, swapping stories back and forth until Jackson’s throat is sore and the bar is empty. Eventually Jinyoung stops talking and just listens, as Jackson chatters about his kids--how happy they look when they’re dancing in front of an audience, the way they always leave the bathroom a mess despite his near-constant scolding, their impeccable fashion sense that they clearly didn’t get from him. Jackson cleans the bar while he talks, refusing Jinyoung’s offers to help out.

The bar is supposed to close it at two on weeknights, but Jackson doesn’t say anything about leaving, and Jinyoung doesn’t either, and suddenly it’s four a.m. and the room is spotless and Jinyoung’s head is drooping even while Jackson rambles. Jackson quiets, and watches as Jinyoung’s eyes slip closed. With his head pillowed on his arms and his eyelashes fanned delicately on his cheeks, he looks more than six months younger than Jackson feels. Jackson watches Jinyoung breathe evenly, and allows himself a moment to stare uninhibited. This will probably be the last time he’ll really get a good look at Jinyoung, anyways, since they’ll be parting ways after the meeting with the boys. His eyes soak in the straight line of Jinyoung’s nose, the curve of his jaw, the little freckle on his upper lip, and he gives himself a moment to regret that nothing will ever really happen between them. It’s probably for the best, after all, but still. Sometimes he wishes he was twenty-two again, fit and confident and headstrong enough to take whatever he wanted. If he had met Jinyoung back then, well… There’s no doubt in Jackson’s mind that their story would have been a different one.

He shakes himself out of his pity party and gives Jinyoung’s shoulders a good shake, makes him drink a glass of cold water to wake him up, and sends him out the door with a smile and a wave. Jackson heads into the back room to grab his coat, taking a moment to look down at his dumb shirt again and remember Bambam shoving it at him just a few hours ago. He shakes his head fondly, reflecting that it’s worth it to be unable to pursue whomever he wants, to have a family that loves him. He’d be foolish to lament his lack of a significant other, when he’s got two kids who worry about his well-being enough for ten boyfriends. He shrugs into his coat with a smile and heads out the back door, locking it behind him.

He’s so lost in sentiment as he rounds the corner of the building to the parking lot that he doesn’t notice someone leaned against a nearby car watching him until he just about walks past the person. He does a double take, unintentionally comedic in his shock, and Jinyoung laughs.

“What are you still doing here?” Jackson asks, displeasure at being surprised making him sound angrier than he is. Jinyoung shrugs, smiling despite the bags under his eyes.

“I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t fall asleep behind the wheel,” Jinyoung says, pausing to yawn widely. “I can’t have that on my conscience.”

“Hypocrite,” Jackson scoffs, trying not to let the warmth and fondness that he’s feeling overtake his voice. He gently pushes Jinyoung off of what he assumes is Jinyoung’s car, since it’s the only other one in the lot, and opens the driver’s side door, motioning Jinyoung inside. “Go on. Hurry up, get inside.”

Jinyoung twists his lips unhappily but obliges, nearly falling into the seat. Jackson shuts the door behind him, waves, and turns to go, shaking his head to himself as he walks away. _Idiot,_ he thinks to himself, to chase away the mushy feeling that’s threatening to consume his brain. Jinyoung may be selfless, but he’s foolishly so. If anyways needs to worry about falling asleep behind the wheel, it’s him, not Jackson. The sound of Jinyoung’s car starting reassures him enough that Jackson doesn’t go back and scold him some more.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay?”

Jackson turns to see Jinyoung watching him from across the parking lot with a wrinkled brow, window rolled down. Jackson waves an arm in frustration.

“I’m fine!” Jackson calls. “Worry about yourself!”

Jinyoung looks like he’s thinking for a moment. “Okay then. See you Saturday?”

“Saturday,” Jackson confirms with another wave. He turns his back to Jinyoung and climbs into his own car, to thwart the growing urge to jog back over there and drive Jinyoung home himself. Luckily, once he’s in his own vehicle, Jinyoung’s begins to move, creeping out of the parking lot and down the empty street, signaling his turns even though no one else is on the road. Jackson can’t help but laugh-- _of course_ Jinyoung is a meticulous driver. As he starts his own car and begins his short drive home, he can’t wipe the smile from his face or tamp down the lightness in his chest. The radio broke a week ago, so he sings as he drives.

_“If you change your mind, I’m the first in line…”_


	7. Just one look and I can hear a bell ring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Mamma Mia" by ABBA

Despite Jackson’s desperate prayers for more time (or perhaps just to skip the whole day all together), Saturday comes far too quickly. His eyes open of their own accord at six o’clock exactly, and despite the knowledge that he really ought to take whatever chance to sleep in he can get, his tumultuous mind keeps him awake. He stares at the ceiling and reviews the plan for the day, chewing viciously on his fingernails, not so much because he wants to, but rather because he doesn’t know how to stop.

Jinyoung will be coming over in the around midday. Re-introductions will be made, and the boys will get the chance to get their long-awaited interview out of their system. Then, assuming the boys give their approval of Jinyoung, Jackson plans to leave them at home and treat Jinyoung to lunch at a local restaurant, the purpose of which is twofold: one, to make sure Jinyoung isn’t trapped for hours being grilled by the kids, and two, as a way for Jackson to thank Jinyoung for all his trouble.

Assuming everything goes well, Jackson will keep up the lie that Jinyoung is his boyfriend for as long as he needs to keep working at the bar, pretending he’s spending the nights he works at Jinyoung’s apartment. If the boys like Jinyoung enough to ask to meet him again (a risk Jackson needs to prepare for, considering Jinyoung’s natural charm and likeability), Jackson will claim that Jinyoung is “too swamped at work” to meet, thus protecting Jinyoung from having to interact with them again. Once Jackson makes enough money to pay off what he owes on the tuition, he and Jinyoung will “break up,” and part ways (hopefully) as friends. Or at least, mildly cordial acquaintances.

Jackson runs through the plan (and every way it could possibly go wrong) again and again until his thoughts jumble up in his head and overlap each other and grow in volume and intensity and he has no choice but to kick off his blankets and get up. It won’t do him any good to lie awake and stew in his own anxiety, especially when Jinyoung will be arriving to their apartment in merely a few hours, and there’s still so much to do.

Luckily, Jackson’s (infrequently used) cure for a restless mind is cleaning, a habit that he inherited from his mother. He pads through their apartment on silent sock feet and takes stock of the situation. The place is in its typical chaotic state: random articles of teenage boy clothing strewn about, DVDs and video games separated from their cases and scattered on every available surface, floors desperately in need of sweeping and mopping, junk mail and books and old homework assignments wedged in every space that isn’t already occupied. (Jackson likes to call it “lived in.” Mark likes to call it “a disaster.”) Either way, it’s long overdue for a good cleaning, and his body is thrumming with just enough anxious energy to dive headfirst into the project. His initial instinct is to just sort everything out and put it in whichever room it needs to go, and then tackle each room individually after that. It may not be the best strategy, but he doesn’t have the kind of mental clarity needed to think up a better one at the moment, so he runs with what he’s got.

The boys stumble out of their room a few hours into Jackson’s assault on the apartment, climbing over the piles of stuff Jackson has been tossing in their doorway to organize later.

“What are you doing?” Yugyeom asks, voice rough with sleep. His fluffy hair is matted down in the back and sticking up in the front, and his eyes are squinting in the sunlight. Bambam is in a similar state, except his eyes are firmly shut, and he sways slowly on his feet, like he might fall flat on his face in a deep sleep at any moment.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m cleaning.”

“It looks like you’re making an even bigger mess.”

Jackson purses his lips and looks around. He supposes, to an untrained eye, that the apartment _might perhaps_ look messier now than when he began, but that’s all part of his process. He’s moved all of the junk off of the tables and chairs and other surfaces onto the floor, so he could clean the tables. Now that the surfaces are clean, he’s attempting to organize the clutter on the floor so he can put everything away in its proper place. The problem that he’s currently facing, however, is that there are more things than places to put them. He’d just been contemplating driving to the store that sells all the cool organizational supplies and purchasing some new shelving units when the boys emerged.

“I have a system,” Jackson says, but it comes out kind of like a question, and Yugyeom sighs. Bambam does an about-face and shuffles off to the kitchen, either uninterested in the proceedings or unable to participate in them immediately after waking.

“When is your boyfriend coming over?” Yugyeom asks, running his hands through his hair and looking at the mess around him with a gradually deepening frown.

Jackson checks the clock. “Three hours.”

Yugyeom pushes aside a pile of junk at his feet and plops down cross-legged in the midst of the clutter. He sighs once more, apparently bracing himself as his eyes flick over the mess with increasing determination.

“Where should I start?”

Jackson can’t keep the cheek-splitting grin off of his face as he gets up and carefully picks his way through the mess to crush Yugyeom’s head to his stomach in a grateful but awkwardly angled hug. Yugyeom yawns, apparently unperturbed by the fact that his head is in a vice grip, and Jackson releases him, ruffles his puffy hair for good measure, and turns back to survey the remaining damage.

“Okay, here’s what I was thinking…”

During Jackson’s speech outlining his master plan, Bambam returns from the kitchen with a bowl of cereal in each hand and a banana tucked under his arm. One of the bowls goes to Yugyeom, and the banana goes to Jackson, who realizes as he peels it that he was so focused on getting started cleaning that he forgot to eat something and his stomach is growling audibly. Bambam clears a spot for himself on the ground with them, and together they discuss the best plan of action between bites of food and occasional yawns.

After they’ve finished eating and divided the work, they split up to conquer the mess with a meager two and a half hours until Jinyoung is supposed to arrive.

“How clean are you hoping to get this place?” Bambam hollers from the kitchen, where he’s been instructed to disinfect everything within an inch of its life.

“Pretend your grandparents are coming to visit,” Jackson hollers back. All he gets in response is a loud groan, but Jackson won’t let it get him down. With the three of them working together (and the slightly euphoric feeling that cleaning gives him), anything seems possible. “Yugyeom! How about some music?”

With the distraction of the boys’ company, the next hour passes much more quickly than the first three. Jackson shoos the boys one after another into the shower and into clean, decent clothes, and puts the finishing touches on their at-least-passably-clean living space. Nerves make him rush through his own shower, and if he’s being completely honest with himself, he’s not entirely sure that he used soap. When he emerges, dressed in another outfit styled by Bambam (the kid just would not take no for an answer, despite Jackson’s reenactment of Jinyoung’s reaction to the last ensemble), there’s still half an hour of nail-biting anxiety before Jinyoung is meant to arrive.

“Why isn’t he just eating lunch here?” Bambam asks, plopping onto the couch looking neater and cleaner than he does going to school. Jackson’s heart warms. Bambam may act irreverent about the whole situation, but his attention to his appearance speaks volumes; he’s taking this meeting seriously. If Jackson didn’t know him, he would think Bambam wasn’t bothered about the upcoming meeting at all. Even so, the way Bambam plucks obsessively at imaginary lint on his cardigan gives him away. He kicks his feet up on the coffee table, earns what can only be described as a growl from Jackson, and quickly puts them back down. “We actually have groceries for once.”

“Because he’s already being tortured enough,” Jackson explains. “We want him to stick around, remember? And my cooking has never made anyone want to stick around.”

“Well, no argument there, but wouldn’t it be cheaper to eat here?”

“They’re not at the point in their relationship yet where ‘cheaper’ is a good thing,” Yugyeom calls over his shoulder as he walks past to the bathroom, where he’s probably going to fix his hair again. Unlike Bambam, Yugyeom isn’t even pretending that he’s not very invested in how this meeting goes. He’s spent more time in front of the mirror than on the day of his JYP audition.

“Bingo,” Jackson shoots finger guns at Yugyeom’s retreating back.

Bambam looks thoughtful for a moment, fingers stilling from their absent-minded task. “But what if you made him Chinese food? Wouldn’t it be more impressive?”

Jackson hadn’t thought of that. It _would_ be kind of fun to show Jinyoung a little bit of his culture, and certainly more interesting than just going to the restaurant up the road, like he had planned, but still...

“He’s right,” Yugyeom calls from the bathroom. “That would be really romantic, too.”

Jackson feels his face begin to warm. Of course, romance is what the boys think he’s going for, but still, to hear it spoken aloud still makes his ears hot. Just the idea of getting cozy and doing something so coupley and domestic with Jinyoung makes Jackson’s stomach do wobbly backflips.

“Call grandma, ask her how to make something simple,” Bambam says, seemingly getting more convinced of his own brilliance the more he thinks about it. He scoots to the edge of his seat, eyes bright and eager. “I can help!”

“That’s great, Bam, but what do you know about Chinese food?”

“Well, I usually don’t burn things, for starters.”

“Touché.” After the last time he set off the fire alarm, Jackson was strongly encouraged by their neighbors to consider ordering takeout more often. It’s not his fault he was born with the kitchen equivalent of a black thumb. At least, that’s how his mother placated him after she spent the majority of his adolescence teaching him to cook, to their combined frustration and no avail.

Because of his boyhood tendency for setting kitchen fires, it’s no surprise to him when he calls his mother and she seems less than eager to give him a recipe. He assures her that the boys will be helping, which seems to ease her mind a little (he’d be insulted, but even he can’t deny that they’re already more skilled at a stove than he’ll ever be). When she asks the occasion for Jackson darkening the kitchen’s door, he makes something up about being nostalgic for her cooking. His mother either doesn’t hear the half-truth (he really does miss her cooking, but that’s not why he called) or is flattered into ignoring it. Either way, Jackson gets an easy recipe out of her, and in return, she gets several promises out of him to visit soon. It’s a fair trade.

After ending the call with his mother, Jackson checks the time and curses. The call went much longer than he had bargained for, and now it’s only a few minutes until Jinyoung is supposed to arrive. Jackson hollers for the boys to come into the kitchen as he hurriedly gathers the ingredients he’ll need on the countertop. Jinyoung will probably think it’s fun to help cook, right? At least it’s a better icebreaker than, _“Here are my demon children, please sit still and don’t struggle while they grill you for information.”_

The boys tumble into the kitchen, looking slightly less neat already (Jackson is very familiar with the combination of teenage boys, nice clothes, and entropy), and stand at attention.

“Okay. I don’t think we need to be having this conversation because I _trust you--”_ Jackson inserts a look of parental expectation at a magnitude that he hopes penetrates their selective hearing “--but I’m going to make sure we’re all on the same page here. What are some things you _aren’t_ going to do when Jinyoung is here?”

The boys looks thoughtful for a moment.

“Swear?”

“Fart?”

“Ask rude questions?”

“Mention that time you laughed so hard you peed yourse--”

 _“Yes,_ all of that,” Jackson interrupts. (In his defense, the movie they were watching was really funny, and he had been holding his bladder for over an hour so he wouldn’t miss anything, and… accidents happen.) He looks back and forth between the boys, intensifying his expectant stare. “And what are some things you _are_ going to do?”

“Be polite,” Yugyeom answers dutifully.

“Thank him for dating you,” Bambam deadpans. Yugyeom snorts.

Jackson puts a hand over his eyes and counts slowly to five, breathing out through his nose to try to quell the feeling of tension that is only mounting with each tick of the clock’s second hand. When he uncovers his eyes, the boys are watching him with matching devilish grins.

“Just… be good, okay?” Jackson pleads. “We _like_ him. We want him to like _us._ Our goal today is to have a nice lunch and a nice conversation and get him out of the apartment with his sanity intact. Got it?”

Both boys nod, looking slightly more serious. Jackson prays it will be serious enough to make this afternoon anything other than a disaster.

“Good. Now let’s--”

A knock on the door startles Jackson so bad that his sentence cuts off with a (very manly) yelp. All three of them whip their heads to look at the door. A tense, silent moment in which Jackson is pretty sure none of them are breathing passes, and then another knock shocks them out of it. The boys swivel their heads back to look at Jackson in eerie synchronicity, eyes wide and suddenly uncertain, like they hadn’t realized the gravity of the situation until this moment.

Jackson takes another deep breath, and lets in out in a shaky huff.

“Stay here.”

They nod, and Jackson heads to the front door on legs that feel like jelly. The anticipation makes his head feel too intense, like someone turned up the volume and pressure in his brain. He pauses with his hand on the door handle, feels the cold of the metal under his clammy fingers, and tries to use it to ground himself as he numbly turns the handle.

When he opens the door, Jinyoung is there with his hand outstretched to knock again, looking for all the world like a model that just stepped out of a catalog. He’s wearing a wool coat that looks expensive, paired with a surprised expression. His hair, which is normally parted to one side, is soft and loose over his forehead, making him look much younger than he is. After the initial shock of seeing each other in the daytime (have they really only met under the cover of night? They must have, because Jackson doesn’t remember Jinyoung looking so… luminous), and a prolonged moment of eye contact that Jackson doesn’t know how to interpret, Jinyoung’s mouth twitches into a small smile and his hand drops back down to his side.

“Hi,” Jinyoung says, because clearly Jackson isn’t going to say anything, what with the imitation of an ice sculpture he’s currently doing.

“Sorry, hi,” Jackson says, shaking himself out of his frozen state. He’s still feeling like his brain was shifted into warp speed without his permission, but he steps aside robotically, holding the door open for Jinyoung to walk through. “Please come in.”

Jinyoung enters with a polite nod of his head. He stops just inside the doorway, enough that Jackson can get the door shut behind him but no further, and looks around, curious and trusting, like a baby animal placed in a foreign environment. Jackson is struck by how strange it is, to see Jinyoung not only lit by the natural light of day but also _standing in his apartment._ Jinyoung looks out of place in their cramped entryway, underneath the uselessly dim ceiling light that Jackson keeps forgetting to replace, stepping around the tumble of shoes on the floor that Jackson didn’t remember to organize, bumping into the table with the lopsided bowl Bambam made in art class. He looks like he should be standing on a marble floor instead of their peeling linoleum, passing his coat off to a butler instead of forcing it onto an already-occupied hook on their overflowing coat rack.

“Here, let me help,” Jackson says, stepping forward to take Jinyoung’s coat and rearrange a few things so that it stays on the hook without slipping to the ground. It would be a shame to see such a nice coat end up on their dingy floor, after all. Jinyoung murmurs his thanks, and Jackson steps back to wave off the words, but gets distracted at the sight of Jinyoung’s sweater, a deep green, baggy thing that looks soft enough to cuddle. The color of it next to Jinyoung’s face makes his complexion downright _glow,_ and Jackson is having trouble remembering what he was going to say.

Jinyoung follows Jackson’s gaze down to his sweater, and fidgets self-consciously with the ribbed cuffs. “Is this okay? I didn’t want to seem too formal.”

“No, it’s great! It’s just… great,” Jackson says, hoping he doesn’t sound too breathy and weird. “If anything, you’re overdressed.”

Jinyoung makes a face, so fast Jackson almost misses it, but he knows immediately what it means, and almost smacks Jinyoung in the chest with the panicky hands he flails out.

“That was a joke! You look perfect!”

Jinyoung lowers his gaze, lips twitching. Jackson can’t tell if he’s embarrassed or flattered, but at least he doesn’t seem to be thinking he’s overdressed anymore, which means Jackson’s awkward babbling served its purpose. Jackson follows the line of Jinyoung’s gaze down to his hands, which are fiddling with the ribbon handles of a gift bag that Jackson hadn’t even noticed Jinyoung was carrying.

“What’s that?”

Jinyoung looks sheepish as he lifts the bag. “Chocolates, for the kids.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jackson chides, feeling his stomach do another backflip at the thought of Jinyoung at a fancy chocolatier, picking out treats for the boys. The logo on the bag is from a brand that God only knows they could never afford. Jackson is pretty sure the boys have never even been inside the shop that those chocolates came from. He silently mourns the fact that something so expensive will most likely be demolished by his barbarian children by the time the sun sets.

Jinyoung shrugs. His eyes slip down to his shoes, self-consciously, for a moment so brief Jackson isn't completely sure he didn't imagine it. “I want them to like me.”

“Don’t worry, they already do,” Jackson assures. Jinyoung was certainly right in thinking the chocolates would help his case, though, and his preparedness brings once more into sharp focus exactly what they’re about to do. Jackson takes a moment to smash down the feeling of anxiety that’s rising like bile in the back of his throat. The reality of Jinyoung being here, in his home, about to meet his kids, hits Jackson like a punch to the gut, and he has to swallow hard to keep from vomiting his banana breakfast directly onto Jinyoung’s sensible loafers.

“Are you okay?” Jinyoung asks, tilting his head to one side and analyzing Jackson with those dark, serious eyes. Jackson loses himself in their depth, relieved to note that they show nothing but calm determination, instead of a reflection of Jackson’s own gut-roiling uncertainty. Jinyoung’s confidence gives Jackson the strength he needs to _calm the hell down_ because this needs to go perfectly, and him losing his mind already isn’t helping.

“I will be once this is over. Are you ready?” Jackson asks. Jinyoung nods, jaw firmly set, and Jackson gathers his own determination and starts walking. He leads Jinyoung down the hall, huffing out an unimpressed breath when he sees the top of a dark head of hair duck quickly back around the corner to the kitchen. How do they think they’re being subtle?

When they enter the kitchen, the boys are standing at attention, eyes latching immediately onto Jinyoung with an intensity that would make a weaker man balk. Jinyoung shows no signs of backing down, or even acknowledging the scrutiny, as he smiles and nods his head politely.

“Go on, introduce yourselves properly,” Jackson prods the boys, placing the emphasis on “properly” and hoping they get the idea that their last encounter was improper, in every sense of the word. Yugyeom, bless his soul, takes the hint right away, and steps forward.

“Kim Yugyeom,” he says, bowing respectfully. “It’s nice to see you again. Jackson-hyung won’t tell us _anything.”_

Jinyoung chuckles. Jackson holds back an exasperated sigh.

“Kunpimook Bhuwakhul Bambam,” Bambam says, stepping forward and bowing, completely straight-faced. Jackson does sigh at that--of course Bambam would try to make even the simplest thing, an introduction, as complicated as possible. Bambam straightens up and shrugs in faux-confusion. “What?” he protests, even as he fails to keep the ghost of a shit-eating grin off of his face. “That really is my name!”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet both of you,” Jinyoung says, with another polite incline of his head. He holds out the bag of chocolates. “I heard you like chocolate--”

“Thank you,” Yugyeom interrupts enthusiastically, taking the bag from Jinyoung with both hands. He peers into the bag, jaw slack, then immediately shows the contents to Bambam. Both boys look up in awe.

“You’ll spoil them,” Jackson grumbles to Jinyoung, as he watches the boys practically salivate over the treat.

“Somebody has to,” Jinyoung says with a teasing glint to his eyes. Jackson pouts at that, and hits Jinyoung’s arm with flimsy fists, playing up the teasing dynamic that has always worked so well between them. The boys snicker obnoxiously.

“Okay, get out,” Jackson says, abruptly shooing the boys toward the doorway. “And give me that.” He plucks the bag of chocolates out of Yugyeom's hands, eliciting an indignant squawk.

“You said we could help!”

“I changed my mind.”

“Please?” Bambam asks sweetly, batting his eyelashes for extra effect. Yugyeom clasps his hands under his chin and cranks the puppy dog look up to eleven. Jackson narrows his eyes at them.

“No. Go work on your homework. In your room.”

The boys’ cute act dissolves into bitterness (Bambam) and pouting (Yugyeom), but they dutifully leave the kitchen. As soon as they’re gone, Jinyoung turns to Jackson with a smile.

“That wasn’t so ba--”

“Shh,” Jackson hisses, holding out a finger to Jinyoung’s lips and waiting to hear the boys’ bedroom door close. The apartment is so quiet that he can hear Jinyoung’s steady breathing, but there’s no hint telltale click of a door shutting.

After a few seconds of suspicious silence, Jackson tiptoes to the doorway of the kitchen. He tenses, listening to the whispers of the boys just around the corner, and then springs out into the hall, shouting as he does it, just to freak them out. They deserve it, the sneaks. Bambam shrieks in surprise, and Yugyeom falls flat on his ass.

“Go to your room!”

The boys collect themselves (shooting Jackson dirty looks all the while) and slink back to their bedroom, grumbling.

“And shut the door!”

The door slams, and Jackson’s whole body sags in relief. He stumbles back into the kitchen and collapses into a chair, holding two fingers up to his neck to check his pulse.

“Are you okay?” Jinyoung asks, sliding into the seat across from Jackson. He seems distinctly more amused than actually concerned.

“This whole thing is terrible for my health,” Jackson frets, removing his fingers from his neck and moving them to tug anxiously at his hair. “My blood pressure is probably sky-high right now. I’m in a hypertensive crisis, I’m sure of it.”

Jinyoung laughs out loud, eyes crinkled and teeth on full display. Jackson shoots him a miserable look, and Jinyoung quickly schools his expression into something more serious, although his eyes still shine with mirth.

“This was a terrible idea,” Jackson groans, putting his face into his hands.

“It’s going to be fine, Jackson,” Jinyoung says. “They’re just kids. I’m not scared of them.”

“You should be.”

“Nevertheless,” Jinyoung chuckles, pushing himself up from the table and dragging Jackson by the arm with him. “Enough wallowing. What are we making for lunch?”

“An ancient Chinese delicacy,” Jackson says, retrieving from the counter a receipt, on the back of which he scribbled his mother’s instructions. Jinyoung squints at the haphazard mixture of Chinese and English, looking doubtful.

“Really?”

“No. It's something my mom used to cook for us when I was a kid,” Jackson explains, examining the receipt and smoothing out the wrinkles. “According to her, it's almost idiot-proof. That didn't stop her from recommending I have supervision, though.”

Jinyoung laughs, deep and warm, and Jackson feels a trickle of his former confidence return to him.

“You're laughing now, but just wait,” Jackson says, jabbing a finger in Jinyoung's direction. “When I ruin this, _you_ are in charge of ordering takeout.”

“That’s fair,” Jinyoung agrees amicably. Suddenly, he catches Jackson's hand, forehead crinkling slightly as he examines Jackson's ragged fingernails. “What happened to your nails?”

“Emergency manicure,” Jackson fibs airily, extracting his hand from Jinyoung's grasp and curling his fingers in so the nails are hidden in his palms. “The guy who did it was a hack, though. He did _not_ get a tip.”

Jinyoung purses his lips, unamused.

“How about you chop the vegetables?” Jackson asks, changing the subject to avoid continuing that conversation. “I'm sure you're better at it than me. I mean, you'll probably even finish it with all of your fingers still attached.”

The implication in Jackson's statement is enough to shock Jinyoung out of his critical stare. He snags a big knife from the counter in front of Jackson and holds it to his chest, looking nervous.

“I'll do all the cutting. You just tell me what to do.”

Jackson concedes the ingredient preparation to Jinyoung, relieved that he doesn’t have to make a fool of himself pretending to know his way around the business end of a knife. After orienting Jinyoung to which foods and vaguely in which consistency they need to be chopped, Jackson busies himself reading the recipe and mixing together the ingredients as Jinyoung finishes them. They work mostly in silence, save for the sound of Jinyoung’s knife on the cutting board and Jackson’s stream-of-consciousness muttering as he putters around the kitchen. As a diehard fan of anything that isn’t silence, Jackson has to bite his tongue from striking up a real conversation and filling the air with meaningless chatter. He doesn’t really have anything significant to say, he reminds himself, and every useless comment is an opportunity for the words to be used against him later, assuming the boys are eavesdropping intently. Instead, while he waits for things to “brown” (a term his mother used, that he isn’t entirely sure he heard correctly; wouldn’t turning something brown be a bad thing?), he sneaks glances in Jinyoung’s direction out of the corner of his eye.

Jinyoung’s forehead is creased in concentration as he works, his fingers handling the vegetables and blade with a sureness that indicates at least basic kitchen competence. Periodically, Jinyoung’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Jackson thinks that he would offer him some lip balm if he didn’t find the action so mesmerizing. The homey tableau gives Jackson a fluttery, heady feeling, like when he has too much coffee and he feels invincible. Cooking at home with an attractive partner has never been one of Jackson’s recurring fantasies, but now that’s it’s happening to him, he feels like something instinctual is waking up in his subconscious, some kind of yearning feeling that can only be quelled by domesticity.

It’s only due to the uncharacteristic silence in the kitchen that Jackson hears the muffled sounds coming from the hall. At first he thinks the thud is just their upstairs neighbors making noise, but when it’s followed by whispering too close to be a floor away, he knows they’re being watched. His heart rate kicks up a notch, as he sees an opportunity to cement their fiction in the boys’ minds.

Jackson takes a deep breath, silencing the panicky voice in his brain that’s telling him to _stop and think for once,_ and goes for it. He hooks an arm around Jinyoung’s waist, hand latching with confidence he doesn’t feel in the fuzzy knit of Jinyoung’s sweater, and leans in close to Jinyoung’s ear to shush the tiny yelp of surprise that erupts from him.

“I’m sorry about this,” Jackson murmurs, giving Jinyoung’s waist a little squeeze and pointing at the vegetables like he’s critiquing Jinyoung’s knife skills. “We have an audience.”

Jinyoung gets with the program quickly, the shocked look in his eyes melting almost instantaneously into something so warm and fond that Jackson would be hard-pressed to say it wasn’t genuine. He bites his lip, eyes crinkling at the corners in a fatal combination, and leans in close, bringing up a hand to cup around Jackson’s ear. Jackson’s pulse increases ten beats per minute with every centimeter of space eliminated between them, until he can feel the blood pounding in his head and Jinyoung’s breath on his ear.

“Do we put the scallions in now or at the end?”

“Uhh,” Jackson says eloquently, so thrown by the question that his brain goes completely blank. It’s hardly his fault that he thought Jinyoung’s skinship and what can only be described as _bedroom eyes_ were leading up to a topic more risque than onions. Although, isn’t that really his fault after all? Jinyoung is playing the scene like a professional; he’s not the one who can’t decipher the boundary between what’s real and what’s fake. The thought clears Jackson’s head, and he quickly leans back out of Jinyoung’s space, unhooking his arm from Jinyoung’s waist to run a hand anxiously through his hair. As he grabs the recipe from the counter to answer Jinyoung’s question, he notices the warmth drain from Jinyoung’s expression as quickly as it had appeared. Jinyoung is probably (understandably) annoyed; Jackson ruined a perfectly good scene that, taken just a little further, could have really sold their scheme to the kids.

Jackson chokes down his disappointment with himself as he holds the recipe up close to his reddening face to re-read. (Jinyoung may be witness to their humble apartment but Jackson will be damned if Jinyoung sees him in his dorky glasses. That's crossing the line.) The recipe says nothing about the timing of scallion addition. As Jackson checks and rechecks the wrinkled, smudged paper, Jinyoung tilts his head to the side, clearly unsure how to proceed but apparently willing to be patient until Jackson figures it out, bless his heart. Jackson debates just winging it, but ultimately decides against it. With his luck, and often misguided kitchen instincts, the so-far-decent meal would turn inedible very quickly. He pulls out his phone. “I’m going to use my cheat and phone a friend.”

Jinyoung huffs a laugh and turns back to finish his neat pile of vegetables. Although the action itself is innocuous, Jackson can’t help but interpret it as a dismissal, and it stings.

Jackson’s mom answers on the second ring, and he asks for clarification. She talks him through the last few steps of the dish, giving a few tips on seasoning it that she had forgotten to tell him on the first phone call. Jackson hangs up, feeling better about the whole situation with his mother’s reassurances, and turns back to see Jinyoung watching him intently.

“What?” Jackson asks, stomach flipping weakly like it always does in response to Jinyoung’s undivided attention.

“Nothing,” Jinyoung says, shaking his head and smiling. “I’ve never heard you speak anything but Korean. You’re so good at it, I guess I just forgot until now that it isn’t your first language.”  
“Oh,” Jackson says, feeling his ears heat a little at the praise. “It’s actually my fourth language,” he adds, unnecessarily, quickly becoming flustered by the look of admiration Jinyoung gives him. His next words spill out of his mouth before he has the chance to stop them. “I’m pretty incredible like that.”

“You certainly are,” Jinyoung says with what appears to be genuine warmth in his tone, and Jackson’s pulse does a thing that he’s certain is not natural. Jinyoung doesn’t seem to notice the effect of his words, though, because he simply turns his attention back to his neatly diced pile of onions. “So when do these go in?”

“Just before serving,” Jackson says.

Jinyoung nods. “Are we about to serve it?” His eyes dart pointedly toward the doorway, where the boys are surely still hiding, listening to their every word.

“Yeah,” Jackson says at a normal volume, before raising his voice deliberately so that the boys can hear him. _“I better go tell the kids that lunch is almost ready.”_

 _“Yes, good idea,”_ Jinyoung says, matching Jackson’s exaggerated tone. Their play-acting is rewarded with the sound of slippered feet scurrying down the hallway. They share a bemused look as they hear the bedroom door click softly shut. Jinyoung scoops up his onions and dumps them into the pot, while Jackson gets their best dishes down from the cabinet.

They work in tandem to set the table, quiet in Jinyoung’s way, that Jackson is learning to appreciate: silent, but amicably so. Jackson does his best to let Jinyoung have the silence, despite the thousand-and-one anxious thoughts that are fighting to erupt from his mouth. There are so many things he wants to say, but even more things he wants Jinyoung to say--that everything is okay between them, that they can handle this, they’ll get through this, that everything will turn out fine.

It doesn’t help that he hasn’t been able to think of anything in the past few minutes except the flat look Jinyoung gave him when Jackson pulled away. It keeps flashing behind his eyelids when he closes them, like a scene from a horror movie that was burned into his retinas. Had he crossed a line, when he squeezed Jinyoung’s waist? Should he have asked for permission first? Is that the reason for the sudden distance Jackson feels between them? He knows Jinyoung had generically consented to skinship before he even arrived, but Jackson supposes that “skinship” can mean different things to different people. Maybe Jinyoung is only comfortable with things like holding hands. Maybe embracing was taking it too far. Maybe Jackson has deeply offended him. Maybe he’s overthinking things. Regardless, he needs to find out, because now that he’s gotten a feel for that soft sweater and the warmth of Jinyoung’s waist, he’s not sure he’ll be able to keep his hands to himself.

“Hey,” Jackson says softly, before he loses his nerve. Jinyoung sets a stack of dishes on the table and looks up, calm and curious. Jackson clears his throat to force the words that are sticking in it to come out. “Before I call them in here, I just wanted to give you one more chance to set some boundaries.”

Jinyoung looks at him blankly. “Boundaries?”

“Yeah, about the whole… skinship thing,” Jackson explains weakly. Jinyoung’s expression clears of its confusion, and almost immediately regains a cold, shuttered quality that Jackson doesn’t understand. He tries to backtrack. “I mean, you’ve already done so much. You _came here,_ surely the kids must believe you’re my boyfriend by now. We don’t have to act all coupley if you don’t want to.”

Jinyoung’s eyes cut down and away to his fingers, which are rhythmically tracing the edges of the dish in front of him. He nods slowly, but with his face turned away, Jackson can’t decipher his expression.

“I understand,” Jinyoung says softly, nodding some more to himself as he takes the top dish off the stack and sets it in its place. “It’s hard to fake that kind of intimacy.”

“Exactly!” Jackson exclaims, relieved that Jinyoung understands so easily. He steps closer (remembering that although they heard the boys return to their room, children can miraculously develop supersonic hearing when they need to) and lowers his voice. Jinyoung tracks Jackson’s movement out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t turn his face as Jackson approaches. Jackson reaches out a hand, instinctively driven to touch and comfort, but forces himself to drop it just shy of Jinyoung’s shoulder. “I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I get it, Jackson-ssi,” Jinyoung murmurs. Jackson would be lying if he said the return of the polite suffix didn’t irritate him. Every time he thinks he and Jinyoung are making progress, are getting close to being… well, close, Jinyoung throws out that suffix again and they’re back to square one. His gaze remains averted from Jackson in a way that Jackson knows is significant. If there’s one thing Jackson has learned since meeting Jinyoung, it’s that he uses--and withholds--eye contact deliberately. Jinyoung’s hands move steadily, distributing dishes across the table. “We barely even know each other, and I’m not the most approachable person--”

“Jinyoung-ah--” Jackson interrupts before Jinyoung can finish, exasperatedly emphasizing the familiar suffix. (It’s his own childish way of saying he’s not backing down, and Jinyoung will become his friend if he dies trying, which Jinyoung can’t seem to get through his thick, beautiful skull.) Jinyoung thinks the issue here is that he’s not _approachable?_ That he’s not _attractive?_ Jackson has been practically slapping himself to keep from approaching. But of course, Mr. Perfect is too humble to realize his own appeal. Of course he’s painfully insecure, and thinks Jackson would be forcing himself to be affectionate. “That’s not what I meant at all. I’m more worried about the opposite happening.”

Jinyoung looks up, chewing on his lip uncertainly. Jackson wants to cup Jinyoung’s face with his hands and squish those soft cheeks and scream into his face _I like you, dammit! You have value!_

“The opposite?”

“I wasn’t just being nice when I said I would go out with you if I thought I could make it work,” Jackson says, softly but emphatically, so Jinyoung can’t misunderstand. This whole situation--Jinyoung’s cluelessness, his insecurity, his reticence to accept the affection Jackson is _all too willing_ to dole out--needs to stop immediately before Jackson implodes from frustration. “Unapproachable? Are you _kidding me?_ You could charm your way out of a murder charge. And that’s not to mention the fact that you’re gorgeous. Even the kids think you’re out of my league.”

Jinyoung thinks about that for a moment. Jackson can actually see the thought process, the slow dawning of understanding on Jinyoung’s face as his lips turn up shyly at the corners.

“You’re not half bad yourself.”

Jackson sighs, relief (and a little bit of gratification at the compliment--he’s human and easily flattered, so sue him) dissipating the tension in his body. “So we’re on the same page, then.”

“It would seem so.”

A moment of silence passes, accompanied by some very intense, very deliberate eye contact. Jackson thinks that if his life were a cartoon, bolts of lightning would be shooting between them.

“Maybe,” Jackson says, breaking the silence because he’s not sure how much longer he can stand it. Jinyoung smirks, and Jackson feels like he just lost a game of chicken. “We should come up with a code word. Just in case.”

Jinyoung frowns. “I’m not going to back down, if that’s what--”

“Just humor me, okay?” Jackson interrupts. Jinyoung backing down is not his concern. Any fears he may have had about Jinyoung backing down were obliterated within the last few minutes. The code word is mostly as a fail-safe for himself, in case he starts getting in over his head. He has a tendency to overdo it, when it comes to things like pretty people and challenges. “It’ll be just like in the movies.”

“Okay, fine. A code word, then.” Jinyoung rubs at his chin thoughtfully. Jackson notices the shadow of stubble, and wonders if he forgot to shave or if his facial hair just grows that quickly that it’s already showing at midday. Thoughts of how Jinyoung must look first thing in the morning flash through Jackson’s mind, and he feels a little tipsy thinking about bedhead and stubble and sleepy eyes and--he puts a firm halt to that line of thought. This is _so_ not the time.

“How about… pineapple?”

“‘Pineapple’?” Jackson asks, picturing the fruit instead of Jinyoung’s face creased with pillow lines. It works, for the moment. “How the hell am I supposed to casually slip the word ‘pineapple’ into a conversation?”

“I don’t know,” Jinyoung huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s your great idea, then?”

“Uh,” Jackson casts his gaze around the kitchen for something innocuous. “Table.”

Jinyoung wrinkles his nose. “That’s too common. One of us could easily say it by accident.”

“I’m not the brains of the operation here, Jinyoung-ah!” Jackson whines. Jinyoung snorts a laugh.

“What about ‘dog’?” Jinyoung suggests. “You know, like the year of the dog. So it’s easy to remember.”

“Dog,” Jackson repeats, testing out the word. Apart from one of the kids asking for a puppy (an ongoing battle in their household), there’s very little chance that he will need to say the word “dog.” Yes, that will work nicely. “Okay. If one of us says ‘dog,’ the other will know to stop whatever it is he’s doing.” Jackson gives Jinyoung a warning look. Jinyoung looks unacceptably smug. “Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“All right. Let’s do this.”

Jackson tells Jinyoung to check the dish for seasoning while he goes to fetch the boys from their room. When he opens their door, they’re in the midst of hastily settling into studying positions on the floor, clearly having just been glued to the door, eavesdropping.

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see that,” Jackson says tersely. The boys fake cluelessness, scratching their heads and shrugging exaggeratedly. He’d be more angry if he didn’t already know they’d been listening in. They’re also doing an excellent job selling their innocence, and he has to give them credit for their teamwork and commitment to the act. “Come on out, it’s time to eat.”

Jinyoung is busy bringing the main dish to the table when Jackson returns with the boys, who “ooh” and “ahh” dramatically at the presentation. Jackson pulls out Jinyoung’s chair for him, and revels in Jinyoung’s bemused look as he nods graciously, like royalty humoring a peasant, and sits. Bambam and Yugyeom notice, and exchange blatantly smug looks as they take their own places at the table.

“So, what do we have here?” Bambam asks, even though Jackson knows that he knows perfectly well what the food is. Bambam looks expectantly at Jinyoung, who blanches and looks expectantly at Jackson.

“The best thing you’ve ever eaten,” Jackson says instead of explaining. He’s met with sardonic looks all around the table, but he happily ignores them and gets to work dishing out servings. It smells great, even if looks a lot redder in the bowls than it did in the pot on the stove. Still, Jackson feels his mouth watering as he passes food out to everyone before serving himself. This is going to be good. His mom would be so proud.

Despite his own impatience to start eating, Jackson restrains himself until everyone else has tried it. He wants to see their reactions firsthand (all the better to judge if they actually like it or will be lying to make him feel better), and that would be difficult if he was preoccupied with shoveling food into his own face. Yugyeom and Bambam both look confused at first taste, exchanging as they chew another telepathic look that Jackson can’t interpret.

“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” Jackson asks, deflating at their unenthusiastic response.

“No!” Yugyeom quickly assures him, swallowing and immediately taking another bite, as though to prove that the food isn’t inedible. He talks through a full mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “It’s just…”

“...Not quite like Grandma makes it,” Bambam finishes for him, and Yugyeom nods his agreement.

“Well I think it’s very good,” Jinyoung says, nudging Jackson affectionately with his elbow. Jackson warms at the praise.

“Really?” He picks up his own spoon and scoops a huge bite.

“Hyung!” Yugyeom says, reaching out a panicky hand as Jackson raises his spoon. Jackson stops with the utensil halfway to his mouth.

“What’s wrong?” Jackson asks, perplexed. Is it really that bad that Yugyeom doesn’t even want him to taste it? Are they all just pretending to like it for his sake? Bambam gives Yugyeom a look, and Yugyeom retracts his hand, looking cowed.

“Take smaller bites,” Yugyeom says weakly, voice cracking like it always does when he’s being dishonest. “You’ll choke.”

“Thanks,” Jackson says slowly, still suspicious of the kids’ behavior, but he takes Yugyeom’s advice anyways and puts some of the contents of his spoon back in his bowl. The boys watch him intently as he takes his first bite, further convincing Jackson that something weird is going on. It only takes him seconds from the moment the food enters his mouth for Jackson to understand why--the dish is so spicy that Jackson nearly coughs when it hits the back of his throat. He puts a hand over his mouth and forces himself to swallow. What could have made it turn out so spicy? His mother never would have given him a spicy recipe (she’s very familiar with his total intolerance to spice), and he swears there wasn’t a hint of pepper in the recipe. He racks his brain, panicking slightly as his mouth burns, and finds nothing.

When he looks up, the boys are openly staring--Yugyeom worried and Bambam grim. Jackson feel his face start to heat, and not just from the pepper.

“Are you okay?” Jinyoung asks, breaking the staring contest between Jackson and the boys. He frowns as Jackson feels a prickle of something moist on his forehead.

“I’m fine,” Jackson rasps, grabbing his glass of water and gulping desperately. “It’s just a little spicy, that’s all.”

“Too spicy?” Jinyoung asks, brow creasing unhappily. He tastes his food again. “I thought it could use a little more flavor, but…”

“Don’t you know he can’t eat spicy food?” Bambam asks, narrowing his eyes. Oh no. _Oh no oh no oh no--_

“Of course,” Jinyoung lies, smoothly, folding up a napkin and patting gently at Jackson’s damp forehead. “I just wasn’t sure how spicy was too spicy.”

“I told him to make it as hot as he likes it,” Jackson adds, taking the napkin from Jinyoung and pressing it to his forehead, where it sticks to the moisture even when he takes his hand away. It flops down in his eyes a little bit, which does the double duty of soaking up his sweat and covering up some of the redness. “It’s not his fault.”

“Still,” Jinyoung mumbles, looking disappointed. Jackson’s chest does a fluttery thing that Jackson convinces himself is acid reflux. Surely the spice is giving him indigestion. Surely this has nothing to do with Jackson’s sudden desire to pat Jinyoung on the back and coo at him that he did a good job. Those things are totally unrelated.

“So how is school?” Jackson asks the boys, changing the topic to distract himself from his own thoughts. He dabs his face a few more times before removing the napkin and setting it aside, then empties his bowl into Jinyoung’s. Jinyoung huffs a laugh, and Jackson mentally pats himself on the back for cheering Jinyoung up so easily. Jinyoung retaliates by filling Jackson’s empty bowl with rice and side dishes.

“Pretty good,” Yugyeom answers, shrugging a shoulder. “The teachers are all really nice.”

“Well…” Bambam says. The boys share a look.

“Our hip-hop dance teacher is kind of terrifying,” Yugyeom admits. “He has this look, when somebody is goofing off--” Yugyeom imitates it: eyes narrowed, chin jutted out, jaw clenching. “Like that.”

“Scares the bejesus out of me,” Bambam agrees emphatically. Jackson sighs at the language, and Jinyoung huffs a laugh. Bambam realizes his mistake, and attempts to correct it. “Oh, shit, I mean--”

“Seriously?”

“Sorry. I meant to say that it scares me a lot.”

“You’ve been on the receiving end of it often enough,” Yugyeom goads.

“Have not,” Bambam argues, shooting daggers at Yugyeom with his eyes.

“Have too. Just last week--” Yugyeom cuts off with a yelp as Bambam stomps his foot under the table.

“What happened last week?” Jackson asks, slipping back into worried parent mode instantaneously.

“Nothing,” Bambam chirps. Jackson pins him with a stare that he learned from his mom: a parental classic that says _nothing stays hidden from me for long._ Bambam squirms in his seat. “Nothing you have to worry about, anyway. Nothing important.”

Jackson frowns but lets it slide, and the conversation carries on to more innocuous topics. He knows that if Bambam was really in trouble, he’d come to Jackson first. Bambam has always had a knack for getting under teachers’ skin in exactly the worst ways possible; there have been many notes sent home and weary looks at parent teacher conferences. The kid is spirited, to say the least, and if there’s one thing teachers hate in the controlled environment of a classroom, it’s an abundance of spirit. Jackson knows this from personal experience, having been on the receiving end of plenty of withering looks from teachers in his own school days.

“So,” Jackson announces, clapping his hands as soon as the conversation starts to dwindle. The food is mostly gone, and it seems like as good a time as any to get the ball rolling on the reason for this (so far, much less awkward than previously anticipated) meal. “Shall we proceed to the interrogation? I mean, conversation?”

“No, you don’t,” Bambam says with a smirk.

“No, I don’t,” Jackson agrees wearily. He looks at Jinyoung, expecting to find trepidation, or concern, or anything other than the calm smile he actually finds. Jinyoung nods in response to whatever questioning look Jackson must be sporting, and Jackson tries to find it comforting.

“Okay,” Jackson says, waving an arm out to signify his permission to start. “Do your worst.”

“So, Jinyoung-ssi,” Bambam says, steepling his fingers together and adopting a critical stare. “Tell us about yourself.”

“I'm a respiratory therapist. I have two older sisters, who live here in the city with their families, and my parents live in Jinhae,” Jinyoung says, as smoothly as if he'd rehearsed it. Jackson would be willing to bet money that he did.

“Where do _you_ live?” Yugyeom asks, as innocently curious as Bambam is out for blood.

“Not far from here. I have a condo near the hospital.”

Bambam and Yugyeom raise their eyebrows and exchange a look at the word “condo.” Jackson can relate; apart from Mark, they don't even know anyone with the financial means to own real estate. The market is not great to begin with, and Jackson's credit has only dwindled in recent times. As a family, they've resigned themselves to renting for the rest of their lives.

“What’s your work schedule like?” Yugyeom asks. “He gets fussy if he’s ignored for long periods.”

Jackson hears something resembling a shriek exit his mouth.

“I do _not--”_

“I work four ten-hour shifts per week,” Jinyoung interrupts coolly, placing a warm hand on Jackson’s knee. If his intention was to get Jackson to shut up, it’s working wonderfully, because Jackson is suddenly so distracted by the weight of Jinyoung’s hand and the sight of his graceful fingers resting on Jackson’s leg that he’s having trouble focusing on much else. He shakes himself out of the minor shock and tunes back in to catch the end of Jinyoung’s speech. “...occasionally pick up overtime, but I’m willing to compromise on that.”

“What about past relationships?” Bambam asks, schooling his expression again, like he's determined not to seem impressed. “Broken a lot of hearts?”

“Bam,” Jackson says warningly, but Jinyoung pats his knee reassuringly, so he lets it go.

“No. Actually, before Jackson--” Jinyoung clears his throat, squirms-- “I hadn't really been in a serious relationship.”

“So just one night stands, then.”

 _“Bam!”_ Jackson shrieks, but Jinyoung just chuckles.

“No, none of those either.”

“So you've never dated… ever?” Yugyeom asks, awestruck. Jinyoung shakes his head. “Why not?”

“Never had the time,” Jinyoung says with a shrug. “Or the right person.”

“So then what are your intentions with our hyung?” Bambam asks, chin jutting out defiantly. “You don't have any dating experience. Are you just looking for an easy lay, or…?”

Surprise makes Jackson choke on his water instead of sipping it, and he's certain at least half of it ends up in his lungs. As he coughs, feeling tears prickle the corners of his eyes, Jinyoung pats him on the back, watching him with a wrinkle between his brows.

“Are you okay?” Jinyoung asks quietly. If Jackson didn’t know better, he’d think Jinyoung was actually concerned. Damn, he’s good. Jackson needs to step up his game.

“Who says I’m easy?” Jackson gasps instead of answering. Bambam, to his credit, cuts his eyes away in contrition. He ignores Jackson’s question, though, and turns back to Jinyoung.

“Well?”

“I think it’s a little early to have that discussion,” Jinyoung says evenly, appearing completely unfazed by the offensive question. He continues to gently rub Jackson’s back, as though he’s forgotten he’s doing it. Jackson has stopped coughing, but Jinyoung’s hand feels warm and soothing on his back and he doesn’t exactly want it to stop, so he keeps quiet. “I’m not just in it for the sex, though, if that’s really what you’re worried about.”

“And how is the sex?” Bambam asks casually.

A strangled noise erupts from Jackson’s throat as he lunges in Jinyoung’s direction and claps his hands protectively over Jinyoung's ears.

“We haven’t had _sex,”_ Jackson hisses. Jinyoung covers his mouth with a fist and hacks out a cough that sounds an awful lot like an aborted laugh. The boys exchange disbelieving looks.

“If you aren't having sex, then why are you spending so much time at Jinyoung-ssi’s apartment?” Yugyeom asks.

Jackson goes completely stiff, like an opossum playing dead. He has no logical answer to Yugyeom's question, and panic is making his brain short circuit. Maybe if he stays still and quiet long enough, they’ll get bored and give up and he and Jinyoung can escape.

“We’re fifteen, not blind, hyung,” Bambam says, exasperated after what must have been only a few seconds of tense silence but what felt to Jackson like an hour.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jackson whispers, clamping his hands tighter over Jinyoung’s ears. Jinyoung makes an unhappy sound in the back of his throat, but Jackson doesn't loosen his grip. “You’ve seen nothing. You can’t prove it.”

“He’s handsome, you have a good body,” Bambam explains. “It’s pretty simple math, hyung.”

“What, I’m not handsome too?” Jackson whines, insecure and slightly insulted. He knows that he's not the prettiest face on the planet, but he definitely has some angles that work for him, in good light. Jinyoung takes the opportunity presented by Jackson's distractedness and extracts himself from Jackson’s grip. He gathers Jackson's hands and cradles them in his own, patting them gently.

“You’re very handsome, dear,” Jinyoung coos, lips pouting like he's soothing a fussy child.

Jackson can’t help it--he preens under the praise. Even if it’s fake, even if it was only said to placate him, it makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside, as does the fondness in Jinyoung's eyes. Jackson ducks his head shyly, turning his face into the sleeve of Jinyoung's sweater to hide the flush he can feel on his cheeks. With the softness of Jinyoung's sweater against his face and the solid weight of Jinyoung's arm coming to rest around his shoulders, Jackson takes a shaky breath and calms his fluttery, traitorous heart. Now is not the time to be getting flustered by their playacting. It’s certainly not the time to be analyzing whether or not Jinyoung means what he says when he calls Jackson handsome, whether the gentleness with which he squeezes Jackson's arm is genuine. Jackson steels himself and regains his resolve. They're almost done. They have to be.

When Jackson finally emerges from the sanctuary of Jinyoung’s green sweater, Jinyoung removes his arm from Jackson's shoulders and turns to the boys, levelling them with a serious look.

“The sex is none of your business,” Jinyoung says tersely. “And aren't you being awfully disrespectful to your hyung? You should apologize.”

“Sorry, hyung,” Bambam says, ducking his head in uncharacteristic embarrassment.

“D-damn straight you’re sorry,” Jackson stutters, feeling like he missed something. Since when does Bambam back down so easily? Since when has he ever felt remorse at taunting Jackson mercilessly?

“We’re just curious about the nature of your relationship,” Yugyeom explains. “Jackson-hyung doesn’t really date much--”

“Excuse you, I’ve been on plenty of dates!” Jackson interrupts, trying to save face, although he’s sure his own is not doing much to hide his mortification. “I was very popular, back in my day!”

“Sure you were, hyung,” Yugyeom coddles absentmindedly, before turning back to Jinyoung. “He doesn’t have a lot of experience in this area--”

“I am very experienced!”

“--and we’d like a little reassurance that you’re not going to leave him high and dry,” Yugyeom finishes, ignoring Jackson’s interjections completely.

“He’s very sensitive,” Bambam adds, palms up like he's apologizing for something.

“What is happening right now?” Jackson wails, looking back and forth between Jinyoung and the boys, who seem to have forgotten he’s even there. “Am I invisible? Can you even hear me?”

“I can’t promise much,” Jinyoung says slowly. “But I promise not to hurt him intentionally.”

Bambam nods slowly and turns to exchange a look with Yugyeom. They’re doing that thing that they always do; Jackson calls it telepathy but they firmly deny any superpowers whenever he tries to confront them about it. In any case, after a few subtle changes in expression and tilts of the head, the boys turn in unison back to face Jackson and Jinyoung.

“We have decided to permit this on a trial basis,” Bambam begins, and Jackson can’t help but scoff at the pretentiousness of it, before the meaning of the words hits him and his breath catches in his throat.

“Wait, really?” Jackson asks, looking back and forth between the boys. Yugyeom’s face slowly dimples into a broad smile.

“We’ll see how it goes for a month and re-evaluate then,” Bambam says loftily, but a smile is tugging at the corners of his mouth, too.

“Yeah? We’re good?” Jackson asks, hope bubbling like carbonation in his stomach. The boys share another look, then turn back to him and nod, faces creasing in twin smiles. Jackson can’t help himself, he whoops his excitement out loud, shooting up out of his chair so quickly that it tips over backwards and hits the floor with a bang. Jinyoung just chuckles and reaches down to pick up the chair, but when Jackson hauls him to his feet for a victory hug, he can see the gratification in Jinyoung’s eyes, too. Jackson tightens his arms around Jinyoung’s waist, relief lowering his inhibitions. He presses his face into Jinyoung’s shoulder, appreciating the fact that their subtle height difference makes Jinyoung just the right size for hugging, and lets himself feel unabashedly happy for a while.

“You two can stop being gross now,” Bambam interrupts, proving yet again his inability to read the atmosphere. Jinyoung clears his throat, and Jackson releases him, letting his hands linger on Jinyoung’s waist for just a moment more, chasing the soft knit of his sweater with his fingertips.

“Does this mean you guys are gonna get married?” Yugyeom asks, wrinkling his nose either in disgust or to hide a smile. Jackson hears the quiet sound of Jinyoung inhaling sharply in what Jackson assumes must be shock. Pretending to be boyfriends is one thing, but insinuating they’re going to get _married--_

“Let’s do the dishes!” Jackson announces, with an enthusiastic clap of his hands. The boys groan loudly, covering the shaky exhale Jackson hears from Jinyoung. Crisis averted, for now. “Come on, boys, teamwork makes the dream work!”

Despite their whining, the boys are surprisingly helpful with returning the kitchen to its prior spotless state. Jackson’s attempts to keep Jinyoung from doing any work fail, naturally--why did he even try?--but they make a pretty good team, the four of them all together. The boys suddenly seem shy around Jinyoung, like they’ve only just realized the significance of his presence now that their long-awaited interrogation is over. When Jinyoung speaks, they smile and nod and offer to help without being asked, and generally are much better behaved than they are with just Jackson. Jackson almost wants to shake them out of it--it’s weird seeing them being so pleasant and helpful, like he’s living in a movie about changelings--but then he realizes that they’re attempting to show Jinyoung that he’s welcome, and that’s really sweet, so Jackson contents himself with watching their interactions, quiet and awestruck. He should’ve gotten a boyfriend years ago, if only for the perk of his kids doing chores with smiles on their faces.

“Jinyoung-ssi, do you play video games?” Yugyeom asks, as he takes the last clean dish from Jackson’s soapy hands and dries it, before passing it to Bambam, who puts it away. Jinyoung, having been banished to the kitchen table with a cup of tea (because “this assembly line works best with three people,” Jackson had explained fakely, to Jinyoung’s bemusement) hums thoughtfully.

“I used to when I was younger, I guess,” Jinyoung says, wrapping his long fingers around his mug. “I don’t really have time to play much any more.”

“Do you want to?” Yugyeom asks, lighting up at the prospect of a new playmate. “Mario Party is so much more fun with four people!”

Jinyoung shoots Jackson an uncertain look. “Ah…”

“Don’t guilt him into playing games with you, Gyeom-ah,” Jackson chides, drying his hands off on a dish towel. Yugyeom’s face falls slightly. “That game takes hours, anyways.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re probably busy,” Yugyeom says quietly, trying to seem like he wasn’t excited. “I’m sorry for asking.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Jinyoung assures. “Besides, I wouldn’t be much fun to play with. I don’t know know the first thing about video games these days.”

“We could teach you,” Bambam pipes up, less willing than Yugyeom to take no for an answer. “I mean, I know you’re old, but even little kids play this game. It’s not hard.”

Jackson groans at the insult, even as Jinyoung chuckles good-naturedly. Their eyes meet, and Jinyoung bites his lip, looking conflicted.

“I guess I could stay for one game,” Jinyoung says, looking at Jackson like he’s asking for permission. “If it’s okay with your hyung.”

And that’s how they end up all together on the couch, Jackson and Jinyoung squished together in the middle of a teenage boy sandwich. They play for hours, until the sun is long gone, with Bambam giving Jinyoung constant pointers and Yugyeom periodically leaning his head on Jackson’s shoulder and sighing happily.

Jackson spends about as much time thinking about the warmth of Jinyoung’s body pressed against his side and the breathy sound of his laugh as he does about actually playing the game, so it’s no surprise to him when he loses by a wide margin. It is a surprise that Jinyoung comes in second place, handily beating a shocked Yugyeom and nearly tying Bambam. Yugyeom demands a rematch, but Jackson waves him off, reminding them (and himself) that they’ve already kept Jinyoung far longer than they should have. The boys reluctantly say their goodbyes, wheedling a promise for a rematch from Jinyoung before he and Jackson manage to escape.

Despite Jinyoung’s assurance that it isn’t necessary, Jackson insists on accompanying him down to his car. After Jackson apologizes for the kids making Jinyoung stay so long, and Jinyoung waves it away, the elevator ride is suffocatingly quiet. It strikes Jackson that they’ve made no plans to meet after this, and for all he knows, he may never see Jinyoung again. It’s not like Jinyoung was being serious when he promised the kids a rematch, and there’s no guarantee that Jinyoung will come back to visit him at the bar. Although Jackson thinks that the whole day went really well, Jinyoung may think otherwise. He could be tired of them already, and too polite to say that he won’t be coming back. The elevator approaches toward the ground at a  speed Jackson has never before witnessed, as he racks his brain for something to say and comes up empty-handed.

“I guess I’ll see you around, then,” Jackson says, when they finally reach Jinyoung’s car, and he still hasn’t thought of anything meaningful to say. He rubs the back of his neck in an attempt to distract his traitorous hands that would rather reach out and clutch and hold.

Jinyoung toys with his car keys in his hands, flipping the fob on the ring absentmindedly. He clears his throat. “Yeah… around.”

Jinyoung’s lack of enthusiasm solidifies in Jackson’s paranoid mind what he had already suspected. Jackson will probably never see Jinyoung again after this moment. He tries not to let his disappointment show on his face as Jinyoung opens his car door and bends down to duck inside.

“Jinyoung, wait--”

Jinyoung straightens back up, eyebrows raised expectantly. Jackson panics, knowing why he stopped Jinyoung but also knowing why he can’t act on it, and thrusts his hand out. Jinyoung stares at it for a moment, then, ever so slowly, reaches out to shake it.

“Thank you,” Jackson says, hoping the phrase isn’t as worn out as it feels. He pumps Jinyoung’s dry hand in his own sweaty one, stalling for time. “If you ever need anything, anything at all, just call me and I’ll be there.”

“Sure, Jackson-ssi,” Jinyoung says, extracting his hand and lowering his gaze. He turns back to his car. “I should go.”

“Okay,” Jackson says, as Jinyoung sits inside his car. “Drive safe.”

Jackson watches Jinyoung buckle up and start the car, and steps back as Jinyoung pulls away from the curb. Jackson waves, and Jinyoung either doesn’t see it or ignores it. Still, Jackson watches until the taillights fade into the flow of traffic, and he can no longer distinguish them from the rest. He heads back inside the building on heavy feet.

“What took so long?” Bambam calls out almost as soon as the door shuts behind Jackson. Jackson makes his way to the living room, where both boys turn to look at him over the back of the couch. “Were you making out in the back seat of his car?”

“Were you staring lovingly into each other’s eyes?” Yugyeom teases, clasping his hands beneath his chin and fluttering his eyelashes dramatically.

“Something like that,” Jackson lies, sounding flat even to his own ears. It suddenly seems like the weight of the day comes crashing down on his shoulders all at once. It’s barely evening, but his body and mind feel as sluggish as if it were the middle of the night. “I think I’m gonna go lie down.”

The boys exchange concerned looks.

“What’s wrong?” Yugyeom asks.

“Nothing,” Jackson assures them. “I’m just tired. It was a long day.”

Jackson lies wide awake in his bed, staring at the water stain on his ceiling from that time their upstairs neighbor overfilled their bathtub and it leaked through the floor. (His room smelled musty for weeks, and sometimes if he thinks about it really hard, he can still smell it.) He doesn’t think about much. He mostly just lies there and feels--relief, regret, anxiety, trepidation. But most of all, and most worryingly, he feels longing, sitting like a heavy weight right over his sternum, making his chest feel achy and tight. He doesn’t understand this feeling, or if he does, he refuses to admit it, even to himself. It’s a useless feeling, and it has no place in his heart, but here he is, wallowing in it all the same.

He’s not sure how long he wallows, staring at the ceiling and smelling the ghost of mildew. Eventually Yugyeom and Bambam creak open the door and tiptoe in, sliding into his bed on either side of him like two skinny teenage bookends.

“Did he break up with you or something?” Bambam asks, attempting to sound derisive even as concern knots his eyebrows together.

“No, nothing like that,” Jackson says, wrapping an arm around each of the boys so that their heads are pillowed on his shoulders.

“Do you really miss him that much already?” Yugyeom asks quietly, awed but doubtful.

“Yeah,” Jackson sighs, feeling the true weight of the word, the significance of their parting that the kids will never--should never--fully understand. He swallows back a lump in his throat. “Yeah, I do.”


	8. Try once more, like you did before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Chiquitita" by ABBA

In Bambam’s defense, it’s not his fault that his teachers have no sense of humor. Or any idea of what’s fun and cool. Or patience for things like bottle flipping.

Don’t they have any idea that bottle flipping is the craze that’s sweeping the nation? Don’t they know that Bambam needs to practice near-constantly, much like a professional athlete would, to improve? Don’t they know that by becoming the best bottle flipper in school, his social rank will rise like, a billion points?

Obviously not, or he wouldn’t be in detention, mopping the hallways of the entire school on a Friday night, long after all the “good” students have gone home. The only people in the building, so far as Bambam can tell, are himself and the teacher who gave him the detention, Ms. Lee, who is currently holed up in the teachers’ office, eating cup ramen and reading gossip magazines while she waits for him to finish so she can lock up the building.

Ms. Lee is actually pretty cool, for a math teacher, and they usually get along just fine (well, as fine as any student and teacher can really get along). That’s why Bambam hadn’t thought much of bottle flipping in the back of the classroom while her back was turned as she wrote on the chalkboard. He was getting away with it, too, until Minghao dared him to flip it up on top of the bookcase across the room. In hindsight, he should've known that it wouldn't end well, but Minghao dared him to, so really, he had no choice. For what it’s worth, he nailed it, but not without knocking a globe off the top shelf and onto the ground, where it cracked open with an almighty clatter and scared Ms. Lee so bad that she knocked her glasses off her own face and those broke, too.

Even Bambam had to admit that Ms. Lee’s hands were kind of tied at that point. No amount of fondness for Bambam was going to keep her from giving him detention. She had a reputation to uphold as a teacher, after all, too. But his bad boy cred had skyrocketed by lunch time, so, honestly? Worth it.

Still, he thinks as he squeaks his way through the dim, eerily empty halls with what is probably the oldest, smelliest mop on planet earth, it’s a shame he had to get detention _today_ of all days. He and Yugyeom were finally going to go to Jungkook’s dorm after school. They got permission ahead of time from Jackson and everything. But now Bambam is stuck in an empty school building, with a teacher who resents him for making her stay late on a Friday and his trusty mop, which should probably be in a museum for the world’s grossest things, and Yugyeom is with Jungkook, probably playing video games and stuffing his face with junk food and trading all the school gossip that Bambam _needs_ to know.

Bambam is mostly just annoyed that Yugyeom went without him. A loyal brother would have cancelled on Jungkook, and stayed to help Bambam mop the school that much quicker, and probably bought him ice cream for his misery, or something. But when Bambam told him about the detention, Yugyeom just shrugged and looked a little guilty and went anyways, and the longer Bambam thinks about it, the more annoyed he gets. He’s supposed to be using the manual labor and echoey silence to meditate on his mistakes (according to Ms. Lee, anyways), but all he can think about is that the closest thing he has to family ditched him for a boy they've known for two months and a bag of shrimp chips.

What is the world coming to?

Bambam finishes after a couple of hours, more bitter and sore than when he started, and trudges back to the teachers’ lounge to find Ms. Lee. She’s sitting with her shoes off and her stocking feet propped up on the table, flipping idly through a magazine and drinking coffee from a styrofoam cup.

“All done?” Ms. Lee asks when he enters the room.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” She tosses the magazine back onto the table, wedges her feet back into her hideous shoes, and stands, downing the last of the coffee in one gulp. She arches an eyebrow at Bambam. “Did you learn anything?”

“Yeah, that for being so expensive, this school sure skimps on cleaning supplies.”

Ms. Lee sighs. “Anything else?”

“Not to flip bottles in class,” Bambam dutifully recites. Ms. Lee nods, satisfied with his answer, or at least sick enough of this building not to care, and heads over to the phone on the wall.

“What’s your dad’s phone number?” she asks, picking up the receiver.

Bambam doesn't bother correcting her. It's been so many years of people calling Jackson his dad, or just assuming that he has parents in general, that he barely even notices it anymore.

“Do you have to call him? I already told him I got detention. He’s not wondering where I am.”

“He has to come pick you up.”

Bambam swallows against the sudden dryness in his throat. Jackson is working at the call center tonight. He doesn’t finish his shift until ten o’clock. This is going to be bad.

“Does he have to sign something? ‘Cause I can just take the bus home like I always do and get him to sign it this weekend. I’ll bring it back to school on Monday, I promise.”

“He does have to sign something, but that’s beside the point. It’s after dark, and you’re a minor. You need an adult to accompany you off of school property. What’s his number?”

“Can’t _you_ just drive me home?”

Ms. Lee gives him a look so heated that Bambam swears he smells smoke. He resigns himself to his fate, and gives her Jackson’s number.

Although Bambam can’t hear Jackson’s voice on the other end of the line, he can imagine the concern and disappointment and exhaustion so well that he may as well be listening in. It makes his stomach churn. By the time Ms. Lee hangs up the phone, he thinks he might be better off just walking home.

“He said someone will be here soon. Why don’t you go sweep the practice rooms while we wait?”

When Jackson says “someone,” he always means Mark. There’s no one else Jackson can call last-minute to step in as co-parent when he’s stuck at work. It’s probably not fair on Mark, but he never seems to mind. In fact, he usually uses it as a reason to treat them to something, since the times when they all get to hang out together are getting fewer and farther in between. Bambam is pretty sure he won’t be getting a treat today (Jackson will have made sure of that), but the fact that he’ll be delaying his encounter with Jackson’s disappointed face is a treat enough.

Bambam heads off to one of the dance studios like he’s told, but he can’t find a broom (he didn’t exactly look for one, but whatever, technicality), so he decides to work on the routine they learned this week in hip-hop dance class. He knows the music by heart, so he doesn’t need accompaniment as he goes through the moves beat by beat, four or fives times all the way through, until he’s sweating in his school uniform and has to lie down on the floor to catch his breath.

As he stares up at the ceiling, feeling sweat trickle down his temples and the rasp of labored breath in his throat, the guilt over getting detention that he’d been pushing off all afternoon comes creeping to the forefront of his mind. It’s only two months into the school year, and he already has a reputation among the teachers for being a troublemaker. He has a reputation among the students for being funny and friendly and willing to do anything, but that’s hardly what matters in the long run. The teachers are the ones who will decide his future, after all. And his future is so much more important than being popular among a bunch of fifteen-year-olds.

Bambam is going to be _big._ Colossal. Beloved by millions. He decided this long ago, back when he was only eight or nine years old and saw that one now-forgotten idol perform on the crappy TV at the orphanage, and it felt like the sky opened up above him and he just _understood_ what his life was supposed to be about. Besides, as an orphan in a foreign country, barely knowing the language but understanding just fine the uninterested looks the potential families gave him every time all the kids were paraded out to find a “forever home,” he’d known that his options for a bright future were limited. He’d have to make his own future, and that was fine, but he hadn’t known exactly how until that moment, crushed in between two smelly kids on the threadbare rug in their community room, barely able to hear the singer’s sultry voice over the sound of a baby crying behind him, but glued to the screen like his life depended on it, because suddenly he realized that it did.

It didn’t matter that no one would pay for him to take dance lessons. He had a library card and unlimited after-school time to sit on the computer and watch as many dance videos as he could consume before the sun went down and the old librarian kicked him out. It didn’t matter that the other kids taunted him when he spent every school recess choreographing his own dance routines to the music he hummed to himself (mostly because he couldn’t understand what they were saying, anyways). It didn’t matter when no one cheered him on as he danced, because inside his own head he was performing for thousands of screaming fans. He was going to make it big, on the sweat of his own back and nothing else, and when he made it, and they interviewed him in magazines and asked him his secret to success, he’d casually cross his designer-label-clad legs and say _never relying on anyone for anything._

That changed, of course, when he bumped into Yugyeom while he was dancing in the school yard (literally--they smacked right into each other so hard Bambam got a black eye). Bambam hadn’t even noticed the gangly kid watching him dance until that kid started dancing, too, right onto Bambam’s imaginary stage in an awkward attempt to show solidarity despite their language barrier. After a completely silent dance-off (which Bambam now realizes must have looked completely ridiculous to anyone who was watching), Bambam decided that this weird kid who was already a full head taller than him might be worth his time. Turns out, he was right. He’ll never admit that to Yugyeom, though. They don’t talk about the day they met, because thinking about it makes both of them cringe so hard they can’t meet each other’s eyes for twenty minutes. God, they were awkward kids.

So with Yugyeom by his side, and the feeling of belonging brought by his rapidly expanding Korean vocabulary (there really is nothing like having a foreign best friend to learn a new language), Bambam lost sight of his solo career dreams. He was doing well in school, finally (it’s amazing what actually speaking the language can do for your grades), and he and Yugyeom saved up the money they earned doing odd jobs in the neighborhood and coins they found on the street to buy a secondhand boom box, so they actually had music and weren’t dancing to their own singing in the dirt patch behind the orphanage like total losers, and he got a little complacent. It wouldn’t be so bad to share his inevitable fame and fortune with Yugyeom, really. Besides the fact that he needed to pay Yugyeom back for all the times he defended Bambam against bullies, shouting in rapid-fire Korean and towering over the other kids until they got scared and ran away. What better way to pay Yugyeom back than to graciously allow him to tag along for Bambam’s meteoric rise?

When Jackson started volunteering at the orphanage, and he found them dancing out back and clapped along with the music and cheered when they finished, Bambam’s resolve really started slipping.

Jackson came to the orphanage almost every day after school, and they would do things like go to the corner store for ice cream or go the the park and sit on the swings and just talk. It got to the point where Bambam was disappointed when Jackson didn’t show up every day. Of course Jackson noticed that, and instead of getting annoyed at the clingy orphan, like most adults would do, he started visiting them even more instead. It made Bambam’s head spin. It’s kind of an addicting feeling, having someone you really admire like you back, and it clouded his judgment, and dancing kind of took a backseat to seeing Jackson every day. In the hours when they were apart, Bambam found himself daydreaming of ways to impress Jackson (which is just like instant gratification, because no matter what Bambam does, Jackson always seems impressed).

By the time the orphanage closed and they moved in with Jackson, Bambam got his head back on his shoulders a little bit. Jackson was like Willy Wonka, opening their eyes to a magical world where their wildest dreams came true--new clothes that he let them pick out themselves, and their own room in his apartment, and dance lessons and video games and toys and just about anything they wanted, within reason. He told them he had plenty of money, from a lawsuit he had won, and they never needed to feel like they were a burden or mooching off of him.

Still, despite his initial euphoria, the whole thing didn’t quite sit well with Bambam. Nothing in life is free, Bambam knew, and despite Jackson’s seemingly bottomless fortune, he was determined to give back twice over everything he was given, just whenever he finally became famous, like he had initially planned. It was a great motivator--his talk show daydream now featured his adult self, tearing up just slightly (fake, of course--crying is for babies) as he described his foster parent who took him from poverty and made his stardom possible. The audience would sob, and the camera who pan over to Jackson, gray around the temples and smiling with tear-stained cheeks, and he’d say something cheesy like _It was worth every penny to see you shine._

TV gold.

Of course, there was the slight problem of getting Jackson actually on board with his scheme, because every time he mentioned it, Jackson just looked at him funny and told him that he didn’t want to be paid back for fostering them, not even once Bambam was a millionaire with infinite disposable income. Bambam would nod and say he understood, and technically he did, but he wasn’t giving up his master plan so easily.

Of course, it took a few years, but Jackson finally convinced him that he loves him, and love means not owing people for the things they do unconditionally, which still blows Bambam’s mind a little bit. Bambam returns the sentiment, of course, with his whole heart and brain and every fiber of his being. But over the years, all that love made him complacent, made him take things for granted, and he forgot his mission. Watching their money slowing drain away made his determination stir, and the JYP audition certain put some fire in his belly, but seeing the tuition bill was the real wake-up call. All those zeros were like a bucket of cold water on his warm and fuzzy feelings. He needs to get his head back in the game. He needs to make sure Jackson is taken care of, when he can’t work himself to the bone anymore.

He does owe Jackson, and he always has--he owes him his comfortable lifestyle and his best-friend-slash-brother, and his ability to dance to his heart’s content and chase his dream of stardom. Bambam doesn’t take those gifts lightly. He’s gotten lazy lately, he’ll admit it, and goofing off in school was not the best strategy to achieve his goals. Now, as he dozes off on the floor of the practice room, he resolves to be better at school. And maybe, he thinks bitterly, Yugyeom the Great Betrayer will be uninvited to tag along on his path to international fame.

“That doesn’t look like detention to me,” a familiar voice says from above him. Bambam opens his eyes, but the ceiling lights temporarily blind him, and he squints while the voice chuckles. “Did you fall asleep on the job? Tsk, tsk.”

“Jinyoung-ssi?” Bambam asks, when his eyes refocus and he sees the upside down face of Jackson’s new boyfriend. Jinyoung’s snickering at Bambam, who realizes that he’s lying starfished on the ground with his belly hanging out of his shirt and probably looks like a mess. He scrambles to his feet, tucking his shirt in and hastily finger-combing his hair into something he hopes is presentable. “Why are you here?”

“Jackson couldn’t leave work, and Mark is out of town. I’m the last resort,” Jinyoung says. Despite his teasing, he doesn’t look disapproving that Bambam was slacking off in detention. Even so, Bambam knows better than to judge a book by its cover (especially one who has the inside advantage with Jackson and could easily get Bambam grounded for life). Still, Jinyoung doesn’t seem anything other than curious as he looks around at the empty practice room. “Where’s Yugyeom?”

“He’s spending the night at a friend’s.”

Jinyoung raises an eyebrow at that. “Does Jackson know he’s there?”

“Yeah, we got permission this morning. I was supposed to go, too, but…” Bambam shrugs and does his best to act like it isn’t still eating him alive on the inside. “It’s whatever. I’ll go some other time.”

Jinyoung stares at him for a long moment, then seems to decide to ignore Bambam’s quietly simmering rage.

“Well, I’m starving,” he says. “What do you say we go get something to eat?”

“Seriously?” Bambam asks, hoping this isn’t a trap. His stomach has been lowkey rumbling for the past hour, and it’s just on the verge of breaking out into a full-out growl. “But I’m in trouble.”

“Don’t misunderstand,” Jinyoung clucks, eyes doing this twinkly thing that makes Bambam think he’s definitely up to something, “this isn’t a treat. This is a punishment dinner.”

“What makes it a punishment dinner?”

“We’re only…” Jinyoung pauses dramatically “... going to get noodles.”

Bambam scoffs, even as his stomach growls greedily. _Nooooooodles._ “How is that a punishment?”

“If you hadn’t gotten detention, it would’ve been barbeque.” Jinyoung winks.

Bambam is frozen for a moment as Jinyoung walks away. As his stomach loudly voices its opinion at being taunted with barbeque, Bambam thinks that he may have vastly underestimated Jackson’s new boyfriend. This can only be the work of an evil genius. The door to the studio slams shut behind Jinyoung and snaps Bambam out of his awestruck state. He grabs his school blazer from where he had tossed it on the floor and scrambles after Jinyoung, hoping that he doesn’t have any more cruel food-related tricks up his sleeve.

When they get back to the front entrance of the school, Ms. Lee is waiting, jangling her keys in one hand and practically tapping her foot in impatience. Bambam ducks his head, hoping that if he averts his eyes he won’t be incinerated by her glare. It turns out he didn’t need to worry, though, because Jinyoung is apparently the shield against teachers that Bambam has wanted his whole life. Before Ms. Lee can even open her mouth, Jinyoung gives her a warm smile and apologizes for her trouble, and--much to Bambam’s shock and awe--Ms. Lee just about melts into a puddle of goo. She assures him that it’s no trouble at all _(lies,_ Bambam thinks, _all lies),_ and tells them to drive safe and have a good night.

As soon as they’re out of Ms. Lee’s earshot (and as soon as Bambam has shaken off the worst of the shock of seeing his crabby teacher simper like a fangirl--she actually _tucked her hair behind her ear,_ what is happening?), Bambam tugs urgently on Jinyoung’s sleeve.

“How did you do that?”

“Do what?” Jinyoung asks. He pulls out his keys and clicks a fob, and the lights flash on a shiny sedan.

“Make Ms. Lee be all nice to you,” Bambam says as they approach the car. His hand hesitates over the door handle, nervous that his grubby fingers will ruin its gleaming finish. (It’s even shinier up close, how does he get it so shiny? Does he wax it?) He pulls the handle and climbs carefully inside. The seats are _leather._ Bambam has never even been _inside_ a car with leather seats. He does his best to take up as little space inside the vehicle as possible. The less he touches, the less he has the chance to accidentally ruin. He buckles his seatbelt as Jinyoung starts the car and pulls smoothly out of the parking lot, waving merrily to Ms. Lee as they go.

“She was about to murder me before you showed up,” Bambam explains as Jinyoung merges into traffic, “but then you smiled at her and she acted like none of it mattered. How did you do that?”

“People appreciate good manners,” Jinyoung says, shrugging.

“C’mon,” Bambam goads. “I know there’s more to it than that. Teach me.”

“Maybe when you’re a little older,” Jinyoung says, smirking. “No teenager should have that kind of power.”

“Fine,” Bambam grumbles, inwardly cursing adults and their infinite secrets. Nothing irritates him more than that phrase-- _I’ll tell you when you’re older._ He’s getting older every second and yet no one seems to care that his precious youth is being wasted waiting for when he’s _old enough_ but not _so old_ that he can’t enjoy being young anymore. Being a teenager is the worst.

Bambam stares out the window, watching as big droplets of water begin to hit the glass, slowly at first, then all at once in a torrential downpour that makes Bambam sigh. Rain again. Spring in Seoul is a pain in the ass, but he does admit that the dreary weather fits his current mood. The traffic fits his mood, too--stop-and-go with hundreds of red brake lights, inching along at a snail’s pace toward their destination.

Bambam doesn’t know how he feels about the whole Jinyoung situation just yet. On the one hand, Jackson says that Jinyoung makes him happy, and Bambam is totally supportive of things that make Jackson happy. On the other hand, there’s just something… fishy about the whole thing. Jackson was dating someone for a month and he kept it quiet that whole time? _Jackson?_ Kept something _quiet?_ That alone doesn’t add up. He texts Yugyeom and Bambam whenever he gets so much as a pimple.

But after Jinyoung came over for lunch, Bambam felt a little bit better about the whole situation. For one thing, those two could not keep their eyes (not to mention their hands) off of each other, so at least their relationship seems to be real. Bambam just isn’t totally sure that they’re telling the whole truth about how they met, or how long they’ve been together. He’s not sure why they would lie about it, unless it was something embarrassing, in which case he’s decided to be gracious and let them keep up with their little story so they can sleep better at night (or not sleep, as it were).

Jinyoung seems like a pretty upstanding person, really, with his nice car and his successful career and his kind eyes. The one thing Bambam can’t really figure out is why he’s wasting his time with all of them when he could easily nab some equally successful, equally gorgeous person and raise a whole slew of gorgeous little babies in a suburb somewhere. That seems more like Jinyoung’s style. After all, their weird little family is far from picturesque. Bambam doesn’t know why Jinyoung would find them appealing at all. Then again, he’s never really understood adult romantic relationships. From what he’s seen of them, they seem to be entirely based on feelings, instead of common sense. That’s just a recipe for disaster, if you ask him.

Jinyoung, either unaware of Bambam’s dour mood or nice enough not to ask about it, turns on some music. It’s an English song, funky and upbeat and definitely retro. As a female voice sings about changing minds and taking chances, Bambam gets the feeling that he’s definitely heard this before.

“What artist is this?”

“ABBA. It’s disco.”

“What is with you adults and disco music?” Bambam mutters, annoyed that he has to keep hearing this lame music just because Jackson and Jinyoung are in love, or something. “You weren’t even alive when it happened.”

“Do you know a lot of people who listen to disco?” Jinyoung asks, looking surprised even as he keeps his eyes glued to the traffic in front of him.

“Jackson has been singing this song a lot lately. He says disco is ‘the greatest music ever invented’ and since we’re going to arts school we need ‘music appreciation.’ But now I guess he’s just been singing it because it reminds him of _you._ ‘Music appreciation’ my ass,” Bambam grumbles.

“Mmm,” is all Jinyoung says, but he’s got this weird look on his face--partly a smile and partly like he’s going to be sick. Bambam feels a little bit like he’s going to be sick, himself. If this is what being in love is like, he’ll pass, thanks.

When they finally arrive at the restaurant and have placed their orders (Bambam picked the cheapest dish on the menu because he might be greedy and hungry but he knows better than to test his limits when he’s not supposed to be getting free food in the first place), Jinyoung rests his elbows on the table and folds his hands together and gives Bambam an intense look.

“So who’s the friend Yugyeom is with?”

Bambam tries, he _really tries,_ not to roll his eyes.

He fails.

“Jeon Jungkook,” Bambam says, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Jinyoung motions for him to elaborate, so he heaves a weary sigh and begrudgingly obliges. “We’ve been hanging out with him since the first day of school. He’s the most popular guy in our year.”

“What makes him the most popular?”

“He’s the best singer out of all the boys, and a really good dancer, and all the girls think he’s cute or something, I guess.”

Jinyoung nods knowingly. “Sounds like a pretty interesting guy.”

“Yugyeom sure seems to think so,” Bambam grumbles, then immediately regrets it. Jinyoung’s eyes light up in understanding.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

_“No.”_

Jinyoung holds his hands up in front of him. “Okay.”

It’s quiet for a few excruciating moments, as Jinyoung stares at him and Bambam stares at the table. Bambam knows this trick. This is what adults do when they want to get information out of kids--the silent treatment. The kind, worried eyes, and the acting casual, like they aren’t really dying to know the information. Bambam knows this trick, and he’s not going to fall for it, he’s absolutely _not--_

“I don’t know what Yugyeom sees in him anyways,” Bambam blurts out, the words like vomit erupting from his mouth before he can stop them.

“Oh?” Jinyoung asks.

“Sure, he’s pretty cool, but he’s, like, painfully shy, and he has this awful country accent,” Bambam rambles. “And I bet he’s really bad at video games. What’s cool about that?”

“Are you good at video games?” Jinyoung asks.

“Of course,” Bambam says, like it’s obvious, because it is. “So why would he rather play with _Jungkook--”_

Bambam cuts himself short, before he reveals too much, but the words hang in the air between them, and Bambam knows by the look in his eyes that Jinyoung heard it as clearly as if he’d said it out loud.

...why would he rather play with Jungkook than with _me?_

Thankfully, their food arrives just in time, and Jinyoung seems willing to drop the subject in favor of focusing on eating. Bambam doesn’t have much of an appetite anymore, but he shovels food into his mouth anyways, because if his mouth is full of food he can’t stick his foot in it.

They make small talk the rest of the meal, about school, and Jinyoung’s job, and the weather. Thankfully, Jinyoung doesn’t bring up Yugyeom or Jungkook again. Bambam thinks it’s not so bad, after all, hanging out with Jinyoung; he’s one of those adults who’s just really good at talking to kids. It’s not awkward, and when Jinyoung listens to him, it really feels like he wants to know what Bambam is saying. He kind of gets now why Jackson likes this guy so much.

Jinyoung drives him home, and despite Bambam’s protests that he’s not a baby and he knows the way to his own home, thank you very much, Jinyoung insists on walking Bambam all the way up to their apartment, and then asks if Bambam wants him to stay until someone else gets home.

“Jackson will be here soon, anyways,” Bambam explains, stomach suddenly twisting at the reminder that he still hasn’t faced parental retribution for his crimes.

Jinyoung gives him a sympathetic shoulder pat and leaves surprisingly willingly, but not without giving Bambam his phone number, “just in case.”

By the time Jackson gets home, Bambam is in his bed, faking sleep. Jackson creeps into the room anyways, and brushes Bambam’s hair back from his face. As Jackson kisses his forehead, Bambam fights to keep the rush of tears contained in his closed eyelids. Even though Bambam got detention, the closest thing to a cardinal sin as there can be in their family, Jackson still checks to see that he’s okay, still gives him a goodnight kiss, still _loves him._ As Jackson creeps back out of the room, closing the door with a gentle click, Bambam wonders for probably the millionth time in his life what god cares about Bambam’s life so much that he put Jackson in it.

After a few moments of Bambam doing his best to keep the tears in his eyes, he hears Jackson’s low voice through the thin walls of their apartment. Muffled phrases like _lifesaver_ and _won’t happen again_ and _make it up to you_ float to Bambam’s ears, and then, clear as day and like a killshot to Bambam’s heart, _Did he seem okay?_

Bambam rolls to face the wall, pulls his blankets miserably over his head, and lets himself cry, but only just this one time.

 

//

 

Despite Bambam’s fears that his life as he knew it would be over the following morning, surprisingly little changed. He got a stern lecture from Jackson, and promised (with actual sincerity) that he would do better. It stung a little to see the emotions in Jackson’s eyes--surprise and hope and love and sadness all jumbled together in a murky mess--but Bambam pushed through it, and gave him a hug, and went to his Saturday morning dance class feeling lighter, and older.

...Much to his great annoyance, of course, when he arrived to their old dance studio to have his positive outlook ruined. Upon entering the studio, he found not only his best friend, the _one person_ he could talk to about everything that happened overnight (he had dinner with _Jackson’s boyfriend--_ in retrospect, that’s huge, and Bambam was just about bursting from not talking about it), but his best friend… and his best friend’s new best friend. That’s right, Yugyeom had brought Jungkook to dance class. Bambam did his best to seem like it didn’t bother him, but based on Yugyeom’s frown and Jungkook’s nervous glances, he didn’t succeed.

The next few days were particularly rough.

Bambam continued his betrayed act, complete with sarcastic comments, and Yugyeom kept giving him these kicked puppy looks, and after a few days Bambam couldn’t take it anymore. If Yugyeom didn’t get the idea after three days of Bambam’s cold shoulder, then he never would.

Bambam graciously decides Yugyeom’s punishment for the betrayal has been sufficient, and stops acting like such a dick. Besides, he kinda misses that idiot. Plus it’s annoying having to keep secrets from your best friend, and so much more work than it’s worth.

By Tuesday night, things are back to normal. Jackson is at his call center job, and there are no groceries in the house again, so Bambam and Yugyeom feast on ramen while they work on their homework. Bambam does the odd problems, and Yugyeom does the even, and then they trade answers and tweak a couple here and there so no one can accuse them of cheating. What Jackson doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and besides, they only do this on Tuesdays, because Tuesday is Drama Night, and _nothing_ interrupts Drama Night.

Nothing except a knock on their door, apparently, which neither of them hear at first, because they’re so sucked into the story playing out on screen that they hear nothing but the tense words exchanged between the male and female leads.

“Did you hear something?” Bambam asks, his eyes never straying from the screen.

 _“Shhh,”_ Yugyeom replies, grabbing the remote and turning the volume up.

But there it is again--yes, definitely a knock at the front door. Bambam begrudgingly gets up from the couch, because he knows perfectly well that their building could collapse into a pile of rubble before Yugyeom would look away from the unfolding drama. Bambam’s eyes are still stuck to the screen, though, and his feet aren’t really moving, and by the time it gets to a commercial break, the knock is back, louder than ever. Bambam snaps out of it and runs to the door, not bothering to check through the peephole before yanking it open.

“Sorry--” Bambam begins, only to interrupt himself in shock. “Jinyoung-ssi?”

Jackson’s boyfriend stands outside their door, hands full of reusable shopping bags.

“What are you doing here?” Bambam asks dumbly, half of his brain still back on the couch with Yugyeom.

“Jackson said something about not having time to go grocery shopping, and I had the night off, so,” Jinyoung holds the bags aloft. His arms shake a little bit, and Bambam feels his cheeks get hot as he realizes that Jinyoung has probably been waiting a while.

“Come in,” Bambam says, stepping aside to let Jinyoung through. “Hurry up, though, it’s a commercial break.”

“Commercial break?” Jinyoung asks as he follows Bambam to the kitchen.

“Who was it?” Yugyeom hollers from the couch as they walk past, eyes glued to the TV even though it’s just a fried chicken commercial.

“Hello,” Jinyoung says, and Yugyeom’s head snaps around so fast that Bambam thinks he might break his neck.

“Why are you here?” Yugyeom asks.

“I brought groceries--”

“No time for explanation,” Bambam interrupts, shooing Jinyoung toward the kitchen. “We have to put this all away before the commercials are over.”

Bambam dumps the bags all out on the counter, targeting the refrigerated items like a seeking missile. He props the fridge door open and starts tossing things in, figuring the priority is keeping the cold things cold, rather than organizing things at all. As long as the door shuts, it’ll be fine.

“What show are you watching?” Jinyoung asks, finally getting with the program and passing Bambam things to put in the fridge.

“Only the best drama in the world,” Yugyeom calls from the couch, where he isn’t even pretending he’s going to help put away the groceries, the lazy bastard.

“What’s it about?”

“This detective who’s trying to solve his sister’s murder, but she died when they were kids--”

“--and his partner is going to be the next victim--”

“--but they don’t know that she’s next--”

“--right, Detective Kang doesn’t know that his partner is being followed by the same guy that killed his sister.”

“But when he finds out, he’s gonna be _pissed.”_

“Well, duh, he’s in love with her, even if he won’t admit it.”

“Nah, she’s in love with him, but I don’t think it’s mutual.”

“I’m telling you, they’re gonna end up together. It’s drama law. It’s basically guaranteed.”

“Sounds interesting,” Jinyoung says, passing Bambam the last of the cold food.

“It is,” Bambam says, tossing the container in and shutting the door before an avalanche tumbles out onto the floor. He looks at the rest of the food on the counter. “All of this can go in the pantry.”

“It’s starting!” Yugyeom shrieks, and Bambam snags a bag of chips from the pile.

“I’ll put the rest away later,” Bambam says, kind of to Jinyoung but mostly to himself, as he bolts from the kitchen, vaults over the back of the couch and lands next to Yugyeom, ripping open the bag of chips just as Detective Kang reappears on screen, looking just as handsome and sullen as ever.

With the bag of chips open between them and the TV volume cranked up as loud as they can get it before the neighbors start complaining, Bambam gets lost in the plot of the show. Detective Kang is back to doing his tsundere thing, totally oblivious to the lingering looks his partner keeps giving him while they investigate. When he yanks her by the sleeve out of the path of a reckless driver, Yugyeom squeals over the slow-motion eye contact and the swell of violins. Bambam looks over at him, snickering at the flush on Yugyeom’s cheeks, and notices something out of the corner of his eye. Jinyoung is leaning in the doorway of the living room, arms crossed and eyes glued to the screen.

“You can sit here, you know,” Bambam says, patting the couch next to him. Jinyoung startles a little bit, like he’d been so sucked into the show that he hadn’t even noticed he was hovering awkwardly in the doorway. Bambam can relate--this show is like crack.

“I should probably go,” Jinyoung says, doing that thing adults always do where they say something they don’t mean so you’ll ask them again.

“Come on, it’s almost over anyways,” Bambam goads. Jinyoung bites his lip, but he doesn’t make a move to leave. Bambam holds out the bag of chips. “We have snacks.”

“Snacks I bought,” Jinyoung grumbles, but he’s pushing off the wall and walking over to the couch, so Bambam knows he’s just teasing. As Jinyoung takes a handful of chips and settles into the couch, still looking a little stiff and awkward but eyes glued to the screen like he’s not going anywhere anytime soon, Bambam feels a little proud. Jackson would be happy, Bambam thinks, that they’re making an effort to make Jinyoung feel welcome.

“Is that guy the murderer?” Jinyoung asks, pointing with a chip at Detective Kang’s childhood best friend, who, to be fair, has been acting super suspicious this whole episode.

 _“I_ think so,” Yugyeom says, stealing the bag of chips from Bambam without taking his eyes off the screen.

“But we don’t actually know,” Bambam argues. He firmly believes the creepy best friend is just a red herring, and the real killer is the police chief. It’s far-fetched, but that guy is just way too friendly. No police chief is that friendly in real life, not without hiding something. “This is only the second episode.”

“This is the _second episode?”_ Jinyoung asks, making an impressed sound. “They don’t waste any time, do they?”

“I know, right?” Bambam agrees, but then the female lead reappears, accompanied by some suspenseful music, and Yugyeom shushes them both.

The spend the rest of the episode watching intently, calling out random commentaries, and filling in Jinyoung on what happened in the first episode during the commercial breaks. By the time the next week’s preview is over, the bag of chips is gone, and Jinyoung is sunk back in their saggy couch cushions, looking like he belongs there.

“I love this show,” Yugyeom squeals, hugging a pillow to his chest and kicking his feet excitedly.

“It’s good,” Jinyoung agrees, still staring at the screen like he’s in a trance. Bambam pokes his side and laughs when Jinyoung practically jumps out of his skin, despite the dirty look Jinyoung gives him.

Bambam elbows Yugyeom, who’s still clutching his pillow and looking a little bit high. “I put away the cold groceries so you gotta do the rest.”

Yugyeom elbows him viciously back, probably annoyed that Bambam killed his drama buzz, but Bambam knows he’ll do it anyways. Fair’s fair, and besides, it’s getting late, and they’re bound to get the usual passive-aggressive goodnight text from Jackson any minute now. It is still a school night, after all.

“Oh, I already put them away,” Jinyoung says, getting to his feet and stretching. Yugyeom sticks his tongue out at Bambam behind Jinyoung’s back. Jinyoung checks his watch and frowns. “I should go.”

“You know, you could always come back and watch it with us next week,” Yugyeom says sweetly.

Jinyoung hesitates, clears his throat. “I probably shouldn’t--”

“Jackson-hyung works every Tuesday night, so we’re always home alone,” Bambam says, trying to sound a little bit pathetic, to tug at Jinyoung’s heartstrings. They are orphans, after all. They know how to get adults to feel bad for them.

“It’s not like Jackson-hyung even likes dramas, anyways,” Yugyeom chips in, fakely sorrowful. “Even if he was home, he probably wouldn’t want to watch it with us.”

Jinyoung chews on his lip for a moment, looking conflicted, and Bambam knows they’ve got him.

“I’ll think about it.”

(That’s as good as yes, really.)

“See you next week,” Bambam says cheerfully, shooing Jinyoung to the door before he can change his mind. “The show starts at nine, don’t be late. And bring popcorn next time.”

Jinyoung frowns and opens his mouth to say something (probably to scold Bambam for being so bossy) but Bambam cuts him off.

“Thanks for the food! Drive safe!” He shuts the door in Jinyoung’s face. When he gets back to the living room, Yugyeom is still on the couch, hugging the pillow to his chest and looking stunned.

“That was weird.”

“Yeah,” Bambam agrees as he plops onto the couch, feeling weirdly buzzed himself, “but… good weird.”

Yugyeom grins and squeezes his pillow tighter. “Yeah. Good weird.”

 

//

 

“Where did all this food come from?” Jackson asks the next morning, while Yugyeom and Bambam are feasting on sugary breakfast cereal that Jackson never would have given them even if it was the last food on earth.

“Your boyfriend has good taste in groceries,” Bambam says through a full mouth.

“And even better taste in TV shows,” Yugyeom adds, shooting Bambam a wink.

Jackson, the world’s biggest baby when it comes to being left out of things, demands to know what happened last night, but they just trade smug looks and munch on their cereal.

Jackson doesn’t need to know everything, anyways.

 

//

 

Jinyoung shows up the next week, with “real” popcorn (his words). He shows them how to make it in a pot on the stove and they all pile onto the couch with bottles of cola and the best damn popcorn Bambam’s ever tasted in his life and they watch the show together. Jinyoung is surprisingly invested in the show, for an adult, anyways, and it only adds fuel to Yugyeom’s fanboy fire. They spend nearly half an hour after the credits swapping theories and reliving the best scenes. Bambam rolls his eyes at the two of them, but his insides feel kind of soft and warm, and he goes to bed that night with a smile on his face.

Jinyoung shows up the Tuesday after that, and the next, and says they can call him “hyung” if they want to, and after a while Bambam stops wondering if he’s going to come back.

As the days get longer and warmer, Jinyoung becomes more reliable, and Yugyeom less so (in Bambam’s mind, at least). Apart from saving Jungkook a seat in all their classes and texting him constantly, Yugyeom also spends at least one night a week at Jungkook’s dorm. Bambam wonders what’s so great about it. He could find out for himself if he really wanted to, of course, because Yugyeom invites him to come along every single time, but bitterness and a petty sense of spite keep Bambam from accepting the invitations. Eventually Yugyeom stops asking, and Bambam stops wanting to be asked.

(He doesn’t stop wanting to be asked, really, but that’s what he tells himself, anyways.)

Bambam has his own school friends, of course. He’s pretty popular, and he makes sure Yugyeom knows it. He turns his group message alerts up as loud as they can go so Yugyeom hears every one, and laughs obnoxiously when he reads them, even if they aren’t funny. He pretends to be clueless to the sullen looks Yugyeom gives him.

The divide between them grows and grows, until even when Bambam and Yugyeom are together, hanging out at home like they always used to, it feels weird, like they don’t fit together anymore. Even though a little voice in the back of his head tells him that the distance between them is mostly his own doing, Bambam still nurses the feeling of betrayal. If Yugyeom didn’t keep picking Jungkook over Bambam, they could go back to the way they were. Bambam can’t help but feel like Yugyeom is outgrowing him, just like his school uniform, which is already a little short at his ankles.

It’s a shame that height isn’t the only thing separating them anymore.

It all comes to a head in April, when their hip-hop dance teacher, Mr. Im, instructs them to choreograph a short duet routine. He tells them all that against his better judgment, he’s not assigning partners, and they get to pair themselves up. The class erupts in excited whispers, with kids quickly claiming partners before they get left behind. Bambam gets a few offers, but he turns them down. He’s only ever had one dance partner, since he was a dorky little kid, and even though they’re in kind of a rough patch, Bambam knows he can still rely on Yugyeom. The thing that brought them together, and kept them together through all these years, is dance. They’re _always_ partners, and Bambam would bet his life that that’ll never change.

Their lunch table has grown exponentially since the start of the semester. Bambam has to elbow apart Mingyu and Seokmin to get a seat. There’s an open spot next to Yugyeom across the table, but Bambam knows if he tries to sit there, he’ll get a _Look_ from Yugyeom. Everyone knows that spot is saved for Jungkook.

“How’d you do on the English test?” Mingyu asks, nudging Bambam in the side.

“Amazing, as always, I’m sure,” Seokmin interrupts through a full mouth. He wraps an arm around Bambam’s shoulders and gives him a shake.

“Oh yeah, I forget that you’re some kind of English genius or something,” Mingyu grumbles. “What I wouldn’t give to have multilingual parents…”

“It’s not like it makes a difference,” Jungkook says as he arrives to the table and sits, ruffling Yugyeom’s hair. Yugyeom whines and shoves his hands away, but his cheeks redden slightly. “Yugyeom-ah here had the same opportunity, and he’s as bad at English as the rest of us.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Seokmin says haughtily, “My English is _unbelievable.”_

The table erupts in laughter and exaggerated attempts to mimic Seokmin’s accent. It takes a while for the ruckus to die down, but eventually the conversation turns to discussion about the upcoming duet project.

“Oh, before I forget, what song do you want to use for the hip-hop routine?” Bambam asks Yugyeom, who’s busy peeling the lid off of his pudding cup and licking it. “And I swear to God, if you say Rain, I’ll stab you.”

“Oh,” Yugyeom says, looking weirdly surprised all of a sudden. He looks at Jungkook, seated next to him and silently munching carrots. Jungkook’s eyes widen and he looks back and forth between Bambam and Yugyeom, like he knows something serious is about to go down. Yugyeom pokes his spoon at his pudding, avoiding Bambam’s gaze. “I, uh… I already agreed to do the project with Jungkook, actually.”

“Yeah, right,” Bambam says with a fake laugh, even as his stomach drops at the guilty look in Yugyeom’s eyes. A hush falls over the normally rowdy table of boys as Bambam stares at Yugyeom in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

“Jungkook didn’t have anyone to partner with,” Yugyeom explains quickly, even as rage begins to rise like boiling water under Bambam’s skin. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“You’ve got to be _fucking_ kidding me!” Bambam shouts, shoving his lunch tray away from him. He knocks over somebody’s carton of milk, and the other boys hurry to mop it up with napkins before it spreads across the whole table. Bambam hears a rushing sound like blood pumping in his ears, even as the whole cafeteria quiets at his outburst.

“Don’t be a dick,” Yugyeom says lowly, brow furrowing in frustration even as he looks around self-consciously at all the eyes trained on them.

“Oh, _I’m_ the dick now, huh?”

“Yeah, you are!” Yugyeom says, raising his voice. His eyes meet Bambam’s finally, and all Bambam sees there is anger. Yugyeom never gets angry. In fact, the last time Bambam remembers Yugyeom really truly getting angry was back in their orphanage days, when he used to defend Bambam from bullies on the playground. There are no bullies here, though, and Bambam realizes with a sharp pain in his stomach that he’s not the one Yugyeom is defending anymore. “You could totally do this project with anyone else! I know you’ve had plenty of offers!”

“Yeah, and I turned them all down!” Bambam yells, hurt and betrayal filling him up until he doesn’t remember what a normal volume is anymore. He’s standing up now (when did that happen?) and his vision is starting to go red around the edges, and everyone in the cafeteria is looking at them but he only sees one face. One face that is looking at him with absolute disdain.

“We never promised we’d do everything together,” Yugyeom mutters, turning back to his food like he’s already done with the conversation. “Grow up.”

That does it.

Bambam shouts his anger, and flips his lunch tray right onto Yugyeom’s shirt. The cafeteria is deadly silent, apart from a few shocked gasps, as Yugyeom stands and the tray slides wetly down his front and clatters back down to the table. Yugyeom’s uniform is a mess of soup and rice and pudding and kimchi, and even through his fury, Bambam immediately knows some of those stains won’t wash out. Yugyeom doesn’t fight back, though. He just looks down at his ruined uniform, and then slowly up at Bambam with the saddest look Bambam thinks he’s ever seen in his life.

Directly behind his back, Bambam hears an unmistakable voice.

“Boys.”

There’s only one voice in the world that can make Bambam’s hair stand on end. One voice that makes him worry he might just shit himself in fear, and as he turns, he comes face to face with the last teacher Bambam would’ve wanted to see this.

Mr. Im says nothing. He just stares at Bambam with narrowed eyes and jutted chin, and Bambam’s heart-pounding anger is immediately replaced with knee-quivering fear.

“I’m sorry--” Bambam starts, but Mr. Im just shakes his head. He motions at Bambam, then Yugyeom, then out the door… toward the principal’s office.

Bambam is frozen in place.

Well, frozen until Mr. Im barks _“Now!”_ and then he gets moving real quick. He’s practically sprinting out of the cafeteria, not even bothering to check if Yugyeom and Mr. Im are following behind him. It’s not until he’s out in the hallway, away from the whispers of all of his classmates, that he looks back. Yugyeom stumbles out into the hallway, face bright red like it always is before he cries. Mr. Im follows just behind, emerging with a wad of napkins that he gives to Yugyeom. Yugyeom takes them and pats pathetically at his stained shirt, sniffling. When a tear falls from the tip of Yugyeom’s nose and lands among the mess on his front, Bambam looks away. He suddenly feels sick, like his stomach is full of worms.

Mr. Im pushes him toward the principal’s office.

“Walk.”

He does.

By some miracle, the principal is absent from school. Something about feeling under the weather, the secretary explains to Mr. Im, but Bambam looks at the bright spring day outside and wonders if he isn’t out golfing or something.

“Wait here,” Mr. Im instructs them in that disobey-me-and-face-certain-death voice, and Bambam and Yugyeom scramble to sit where they’re told. After a few moments, Mr. Im returns from the office he had disappeared into and informs them that someone will be coming to pick them up because they’re both _suspended until further notice._ Bambam’s wormy stomach triples its writhing activity.

Jackson is gonna kill him.

He’s too young to die.

Mr. Im instructs the secretary that the boys are not to leave their seats for any reason until their parent or legal guardian comes to retrieve them, and then disappears again, this time into the teachers’ office. Bambam settles back and prepares to wait. It’ll take Jackson at least half an hour to leave work and get all the way here, assuming he’s even able to leave his classes right away. They’ll be here a while.

Yugyeom has mostly stopped crying, thank God, because Bambam isn’t sure how much more of that he can take, what with knowing he’s the cause of it and all. Yugyeom just sniffles pathetically every few minutes, and wipes at his nose with the sleeve of his soiled blazer. Bambam thinks he ought to tell Yugyeom that he’s getting food from his messy sleeve on his face, but quickly rethinks that. It probably wouldn’t go over very well.

He really fucked up this time.

That thought bounces around in his head for the entirety of their wait, until it echoes like a miserable chant: _I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucked up._ It gets so loud in his head that he wonders how Yugyeom doesn’t hear it and agree that yeah, Bambam did fuck up, big time, and he deserves whatever’s coming to him. But it seems like Yugyeom is trying really hard to pretend Bambam doesn’t exist, and well… Bambam can’t really blame him for that.

_I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucked up._

Every time the office door opens, Bambam’s stomach drops into his shoes. One of these times, the person coming through the door is going to be Jackson, with his worried face that Bambam doesn’t deserve at all. And then he’ll realize that Bambam did this to Yugyeom, and Bambam is actually a rotten, useless kid like all the prospective parents at the orphanage probably used to think about him when they skipped over him for someone else, and Jackson’s eyes will lose their warmth and he’ll send Bambam back into foster care like people send back steaks that aren’t cooked right in fancy restaurants. _This isn’t what I ordered,_ Jackson will say.

_I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucked up._

Finally, after what feels like years but is actually more like an hour, the door to the office opens and a familiar face appears. But it’s not Jackson, Bambam realizes with a start. No, it’s--

“Jinyoung?” Mr. Im asks from the doorway of the teachers’ office. He looks surprised at first, and then his brow wrinkles in that way that makes him look like he’s contemplating murder, the way that makes Bambam’s mouth go dry. “What are you doing here? Do we have lunch plans today?”

Jinyoung looks stunned, to say the least. His eyes are wide, and his mouth is open, but no words are coming out. He looks back and forth between the boys in their seats of shame and Mr. Im, who’s looking more and more confused by the second.

“Wait,” Bambam says, putting two and two together, even as his head spins with the meaning of his words. “Jinyoung-hyung, do you _know_ Mr. Im?”

“‘Hyung’?” Mr. Im repeats, as his brow wrinkle deepens into a full-blown furrow. He looks back and forth between Bambam and Yugyeom and Jinyoung. Jinyoung does the same. The two of them look like a couple of prairie dogs, with their heads whipping back and forth like that. Bambam would think it was hilarious, if the stakes weren’t so dire. Mr. Im eventually settles his deadly stare on Jinyoung. “Do you know these kids?”

“I’m here to pick them up, actually,” Jinyoung explains. He turns to Yugyeom and Bambam, expression sympathetic in a way Bambam knows he doesn’t deserve. “Your hyung couldn’t get away from work, so he asked me to come take you home. I’m sorry.”

“These are not your children, Jinyoung,” Mr. Im says firmly. Bambam wonders how Jinyoung and Mr. Im know each other. They must be friends of some kind. Not close friends, certainly, or else Mr. Im would know how Jinyoung knows Bambam and Yugyeom. Close friends tell each other that kind of thing. “I don’t know what’s going on, but they need to be picked up by their parent or legal guardian.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Im,” Yugyeom says quietly. His voice is still kind of soggy, even though he stopped crying a while ago. “We know him. He’s our hyung’s boyfriend.”

Mr. Im looks like he just swallowed his tongue. Jinyoung doesn’t look much better.

“Let’s go, boys,” Jinyoung says, even as his ears turn pink. They stand and shuffle toward the door. Jinyoung turns to Mr. Im with a face that almost looks pleading. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

Jinyoung doesn’t wait for Mr. Im’s response. He shoos them out of the principal’s office and down the hall, keeping a firm hand on each of their shoulders. Bambam can’t tell if the hand is to comfort them or make sure one of them doesn’t try to escape.

“Do you guys want to talk about it?” Jinyoung says, once they’re in his shiny car and headed home. He looks across at Yugyeom, who’s staring out the window of the front passenger’s seat, and then through the rearview mirror at Bambam in the back seat. “Sometimes it’s easier to talk about your problems to a stranger.”

“You’re not a stranger,” Bambam scoffs, turning to look out the window and away from the concern in Jinyoung’s eyes. Jinyoung doesn’t say anything to that, and they spend the rest of the ride in silence.

Jinyoung walks them all the way up to their apartment again, and again Bambam wonders if it’s because he wants to be supportive or because he’s worried one of them will make a run for it. Not that Jinyoung has any reason to worry about that, anyways, because as soon as they get through the front door, Yugyeom makes a beeline for their room and slams the door shut behind him. Clearly, Yugyeom is not going anywhere. And even though his best friend is in the other room, hating him, and their hyung will be arriving, disappointed and furious, any minute, Bambam can’t think of anywhere he’d rather be than home right now. He trudges to the living room and collapses onto the couch, feeling like this has been the longest day of his life, even though it’s barely two o’clock.

The scene in the cafeteria plays on a loop in his head. The flip of the tray, the wet sound as it slid down Yugyeom’s shirt and the clatter as it hit the table. And worst of all, the look on Yugyeom’s face. Surprised, at first, then a little bit angry, then betrayed and hurt. That kind of hurt doesn’t disappear overnight, Bambam knows. What he did fits firmly in the category of “neither forgive nor forget.”

The thing that stings the most, though, is that he didn’t hurt only Yugyeom with what he did. Yugyeom’s uniform is ruined, which means Jackson will have to pay for a new one. Even though he played dumb on the day they bought them, Bambam saw the price tag just like Yugyeom did. He knows they can’t afford another one. Not if Jackson has any hope of paying off their tuition and feeding and housing them and saving up for the new car they desperately need. Bambam’s stomach writhes again as he thinks about how he’s going to tell Jackson, the look on his face.

_I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucked up._

Jinyoung sits down next to Bambam on the couch, setting down a cup of hot tea on the table in front of him. Bambam recognizes the tag on the tea bag and almost rolls his eyes--the word _organic!_ calls out to him in cheerful text. Jackson has definitely been rubbing off on Jinyoung.

“What happened today?” Jinyoung asks quietly. Bambam sighs and grabs the cup of tea, feeling the heat of the mug seep into his fingers as he ponders where to even start. There’s no point in prolonging the inevitable, he thinks as he fiddles with the tea bag string. Plus it would be nice to sort out the rotten feelings in his gut before Jackson returns and he has to defend himself for real.

“Today we were given a school project,” Bambam begins, and Jinyoung settles back into the couch, all wide, attentive eyes and encouraging nods. “We were supposed to pick partners, and a few people asked me to be theirs, and I said no, because Yugyeom and I are always partners for school projects. Then at lunch I found out that Yugyeom already _had_ a partner.”

“Jungkook,” Jinyoung supplies. Bambam feels his face twist up at the name. Jinyoung nods knowingly. “Go on.”

“So, I got a little upset--” Jinyoung raises an eyebrow at that, and Bambam corrects himself-- “fine, a _lot_ upset, and then Yugyeom told me to grow up and I got mad and I flipped my lunch tray on him.”

“Hmm,” is all Jinyoung says. Bambam isn’t looking at him, but he can feel the weight of Jinyoung’s gaze. He fiddles with the tea bag tag for a while, then sets the cup down on the table without drinking any and slumps back into the couch.

“Yugyeom likes Jungkook better than me,” Bambam mumbles, hanging his head low. He’s known it for a while, but saying the words out loud makes it worse somehow. Until now, he could pretend it wasn’t really happening, that his best friend wasn’t really moving on. Now the words are out there, and hearing them makes Bambam feel more sure of it--and miserable--than ever.

Jinyoung sighs, and scoots over until he’s right next to Bambam, and wraps an arm around his shoulders. Bambam gets why Jackson likes this. Jinyoung is warm, and soft, and the weight of his arm is just enough to feel comforting without being stifling. It makes it difficult to keep the stinging tears in his eyes, instead of letting them spill down his cheeks.

“Today, that might very well be true,” Jinyoung says. “Although, you didn’t exactly make it easy for him.”

“It’s not my fault!” Bambam protests, and Jinyoung side-eyes him. “Fine, it’s mostly my fault. Ever since we started at JYP, it’s been ‘Jungkook this,’ and ‘Jungkook that,’ but I never thought he’d abandon me on the stuff that matters. We’ve _always_ done school projects together, and I _waited_ for him, and it’s like he forgot I even exist.”

“First of all, yes, feeling sad because Yugyeom has new friends is not your fault, but reacting the way you did definitely is. Second of all, Yugyeom hasn’t forgotten about you, and he never will. But you’re going to have to realize that he’s allowed to have his own friends.”

 _No he’s not,_ Bambam says inside his head. Jinyoung must be a mind reader, because he frowns at that.

“You’re allowed to have your own friends too, you know.”

“I know,” Bambam grumbles. “I could’ve picked _anyone_ for the school project, but I didn’t, because I didn’t want Yugyeom to be alone.”

(That isn’t exactly the truth, but it’s close enough.)

“That’s a sweet thought, but it’s unfair to both of you. You shouldn’t hold yourself back for Yugyeom’s sake, and you shouldn’t expect him to hold himself back for your sake, either.”

Jinyoung’s words bring up a thought that has been edging Bambam’s mind for a while now--what if he and Yugyeom aren’t always together? What if they grow up and grow apart and move to different houses and only see each other on holidays? What if they take turns seeing Jackson and forget each others’ birthdays? Who would Bambam rely on then? He doesn’t have anyone else. He’d be alone, just like he’d always thought he’d be when he was a little kid. But now, instead of empowering, like it used to be, that thought is devastating.

He doesn’t want to be alone.

“This sucks,” Bambam says, voice cracking and giving him away. Jinyoung makes a soft sound and pulls him in closer, rubbing his back as the tears fall and leave big, wet splotches on his pants. His chest feels like it’s in a vice as he gulps back pathetic sobs. “This feels awful. It’s like being stabbed.”

“I know,” Jinyoung murmurs. “Being a teenager is the worst, and feeling betrayed and guilty certainly doesn’t help. But you know what? Those feelings will pass with time, and you’ll be a better person for it, because you learned something.”

Bambam thinks that sounds like a load of grown-up bullshit, because surely something this painful can’t fade, even with an entire lifetime of distance. Still, he hopes it’s true, because hope is all he’s got right now. Hope that Yugyeom will forgive him, hope that Jackson will be able to afford another uniform, hope that he won’t die alone.

Bambam cries for a while. For all he wishes to be grown up and independent, it feels nice to be held and babied a little bit. He calms down eventually, and even though his eyes feel puffy and raw, and the snot won’t stay in his nose no matter how much he sniffles, he feels better. He pulls away from Jinyoung and rubs his runny nose on his sleeve. Jinyoung makes a face at that, and Bambam laughs.

“Feel better?” Jinyoung asks, and Bambam nods, even though he still feels a little nauseous and miserable.

“Do you think Yugyeom will forgive me?” Bambam asks.

“Of course he will,” Jinyoung says without hesitation. “He’s your brother, and he loves you.”

“But I ruined his uniform,” Bambam sniffles.

“Don’t worry about that,” Jinyoung says, and hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “It’s soaking in the bathroom.”

Bambam tries not to sound horrified. “B-but it’s dry-clean only!”

Jinyoung doesn’t look bothered. “That’s just what they say so people can’t demand refunds for washing it wrong. I know a few tricks, it should be fine.” Bambam is speechless. Where did this guy even come from, _heaven?_ He’s always there in the right place at the right time, with the right groceries and laundry skills to save the day. Surely he’s a guardian angel, sent to look over their dysfunctional family and keep them from self-destructing. Jinyoung just laughs at whatever awed look is on Bambam’s face. “Besides, even if it is ruined, we’ll figure out a way to get a new one. You might have to do some manual labor to earn the cost, though.”

“Yeah, that’s fair!” Bambam says, so shocked and grateful that he’d agree to just about anything.

The sound of the code being entered into the front door snaps him out of that pretty quick.

Jackson’s home.

Bambam looks at Jinyoung, terror clutching his chest and making him feel like he can’t breathe. Jinyoung pats him on the shoulder and mouths _you’ll be fine._ He stands up and walks toward the living room doorway just as Jackson comes into view. Bambam braces himself.

Jackson doesn’t even seem to notice Bambam cowering on the couch. His eyes go right to Jinyoung, tension easing from his face as he pulls Jinyoung into a tight hug. It’s an oddly intimate moment, as Jackson’s fingers curl tightly in Jinyoung’s sweater, and Jinyoung’s arms reach up tentatively to pat Jackson on the back. Bambam hunches down, averting his eyes and hoping he can go unnoticed for a few more moments.

“Thank you so much,” Jackson murmurs, presumably having released Jinyoung from the embrace. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

“You know you don’t need to,” Jinyoung says, just as soft, and Bambam thinks that he definitely should not be listening to this. His teenage ears cannot handle the gentle affection in their voices. He slides down further, trying to melt inconspicuously onto to the floor and crawl away, and ends up falling off the couch and banging his knee on the coffee table while he’s at it. When he looks up, rubbing his knee and hissing in pain, Jackson and Jinyoung are staring at him.

“I should go,” Jinyoung says.

“Yep,” Jackson says, and they both head to the front door.

By the time Jackson comes back to the living room, Bambam is back on the couch, sipping his tea and wearing his best innocent face. Jackson definitely doesn’t fall for it, if the angry creases in his forehead are any indication.

“What _happened?”_ Jackson asks, and Bambam braces himself and tells the story all over again. By the time he’s done, Jackson looks a little bit more calm, but no less disappointed. Bambam knows he deserves it.

“Jinyoung-hyung said that he can probably get the stains out of the uniform,” Bambam offers weakly. “And if he can’t, he said I can work and earn the money to buy a new one.”

Jackson isn’t impressed by that plan, if the way he rubs tiredly at his face is any indication.

“I’m really sorry,” Bambam says quietly. “It won’t happen again.”

“I sure hope not,” Jackson says. He sinks back into the couch cushions and stares at Bambam like he’s a riddle Jackson just can’t solve. (Bambam can relate--he can’t solve himself either.) “What’s gotten into you lately? You got detention for the first time ever, and you’ve been moping around the apartment for weeks, and now you’re _suspended?_ This isn’t like you.”

“Maybe this is what I’m like now,” Bambam mumbles, because he honestly doesn’t know. Maybe he’s a bad kid now. Maybe this was his fate all along.

“Not allowed,” Jackson says firmly. “You’re so much better than that, Bam, and you know it.”

Bambam’s face heats up, in embarrassment and shame. Leave it to Jackson to figure out how to scold and compliment simultaneously.

“Yugyeom told me that he kept trying to invite you to hang out with him and Jungkook and you wouldn’t go,” Jackson continues. “Do you really dislike Jungkook that much? Does he kick puppies in his spare time or something? Is he secretly brainwashing Yugyeom to join him in his crimes?”

“No,” Bambam chuckles sadly. “He’s actually really nice. I just… I don’t know. I feel like he’s Yugyeom’s friend, not mine.”

“Well, you have friends that are yours and not Yugyeom’s, right?” Jackson asks. Bambam nods begrudgingly. “It can’t just go one way, pal. That’s greedy.”

“I know,” Bambam mumbles. “That’s the same thing Jinyoung-hyung said.”

“So you gotta decide: do you want to be Jungkook’s friend, or not? If you do, then you have some serious ground to make up. If you don’t, then you gotta make peace with the fact that you won’t get to see Yugyeom as much as you’re used to.”

Bambam slumps down in his seat and doesn’t say anything. He knows Jackson is right, he just doesn’t want to hear it. If being an adult involves making hard decisions like this, maybe he doesn’t want to be one after all.

“Does Yugyeom know how you’re feeling? Have you talked to him about this?” Bambam bites his lip and averts his eyes, and Jackson sighs a weary sigh. “Of course not. Teenage boys, willingly talking about their feelings? God forbid!” Jackson stands up and takes Bambam’s empty mug from his hands. “Either way, you need to go apologize. The sooner you do it, the better you’ll feel.”

Jackson walks to the kitchen, and Bambam can hear the sound of the faucet running. He doesn’t budge from his spot on the couch, though. He doubts Yugyeom wants to hear from him right now, or possibly ever. He pictures trying to enter their room and imagines getting a pillow in his face as soon as he opens the door.

Jackson returns to the living room, sees Bambam still on the couch, and smacks him in the back of the head.

“Go apologize.”

“But--”

“Now!”

Bambam groans dramatically and heaves himself off the couch, dragging his feet as he heads to their shared room. The door is still shut, so Bambam knocks. Silence. He knocks again, louder, and still nothing happens. After the third knock with no response, he tentatively opens the door, bracing himself in case of flying pillows.

Yugyeom is just a lump under a pile of blankets on his bed. Bambam creeps closer, until he can see the puff of Yugyeom’s hair sticking out from the blankets. He moves directly next to Yugyeom’s bed and clears his throat, but Yugyeom doesn’t turn to look at him. He sits on the edge of Yugyeom’s bed. Yugyeom doesn’t budge, but Bambam can tell by his shallow breathing and the tightness in his shoulders that he’s awake.

“I was a dick,” Bambam blurts out. Rip the band-aid off all at once, right?

“Yeah, you were,” Yugyeom says quietly, to the wall. His voice is hoarse, like it always is after he’s been crying.

“Will you forgive me?”

“If you ever actually apologize, I might,” Yugyeom says, rolling onto his back. His eyes are puffy, like Bambam’s, but he doesn’t seem mad. Just… tired.

“I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you.”

Bambam holds out his arms for a hug, and Yugyeom sits up and wraps his extra-long arms around him, and they sit like that for a while, just listening to each other’s congested breathing. Bambam thinks about how lucky he is to have people to call his family, even just an adopted one. Families apologize when they mess up, and forgive each other when they apologize, and Bambam sometimes has trouble remembering that. He also sometimes forgets that for all of Yugyeom’s teen gangster looks, he’s got the biggest, softest heart that Bambam’s ever seen, apart from Jackson, and he was probably just as hurt by what Bambam’s been doing and saying in anger but didn’t really mean.

If Bambam reacted to being an orphan at a young age by becoming independent, Yugyeom did just the opposite. He's soft, too soft to survive on his own. He sacrifices himself too quickly, and cries too easily. He needs someone looking out for him, or he's bound to be taken advantage of. That's where Bambam comes in.

On the other hand, Bambam sometimes forgets to consider others’ feelings. Sometimes he needs Yugyeom to give him perspective, and remind him that the world doesn’t revolve around him and his feelings, and that everything isn't always what it seems at first glance. They balance each other out, that way. Bambam reminds Yugyeom to be strong, and Yugyeom reminds Bambam to be soft, and together they sort of… meet in the middle and mix together and make up a well-rounded person.

It’s a good system. Well, it was until Bambam wrecked it.

He hopes they can get it back.

Eventually Yugyeom pulls back and scoots over against the wall, patting the spot next to him. Bambam lies down and squirms under the covers, and they lie there with their arms linked together, like they used to do in the orphanage.

“I was only spending so much time with Jungkook because he’s lonely, you know,” Yugyeom says, after a period of comfortable silence. “He doesn’t have anyone else.”

“I know,” Bambam says, fresh guilt tying his stomach in knots.

“I didn’t forget about you,” Yugyeom continues. “Jungkook just needs me more right now.”

“Ugh,” Bambam groans.

“What?” Yugyeom asks, looking over at Bambam with worry on his face.

“You’re too nice. I can’t stand it.”

Yugyeom laughs, the frown lines disappearing as if they’d never been there at all. “One of us has to be.”

Bambam elbows him in the ribs. Yugyeom shoves him off the bed.

Bambam thinks things are going to be just fine, after all.


	9. When you're near me, darling, can't you hear me? S.O.S.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "S.O.S." by ABBA

_ “faking a relationship” _

Jinyoung hunkers down in the squeaky office chair in the nurse’s station, scanning the area for prying eyes before he hits “search.” It’s a busy day in pediatrics, and no one really has the time to pay attention to the weird respiratory therapist sitting in the corner occasionally making shifty eyes at passersby. He cups a hand over the top of his phone screen anyway, just in case.

Jinyoung thumbs through the search results. Almost everything is about pretending to care for a partner just to keep a relationship going. “Do it for the kids!” is the resounding theme. Jinyoung can’t help but huff a laugh at that. Doing it for the kids is exactly how he got into this mess in the first place.

And oh, what a mess it is.

Jinyoung had been surprised when he got the call from Jackson asking him to pick Bambam up from detention. He’d been certain when he’d left Jackson’s apartment after their lunch with the kids that his involvement in Jackson’s life was finished. Not that he wanted it to be finished--spending a day in Jackson’s home with his two precocious kids had only made saying goodbye that much harder. So he’d been a little eager when his caller ID had lit up with Jackson’s name. He had picked up the call on the second ring to hear Jackson’s panicked voice saying  _ I swear after this one thing I will never ask you for anything again. _

Jackson probably thought that was the truth. Jinyoung was happy that it wasn’t.

Picking up Bambam from detention turned into getting groceries, and groceries turned into drama night, and before Jinyoung knew it, things had evolved to the point that he felt weirdly lonely if he didn’t hear from Jackson or the boys every day. It sometimes feels like acid reflux burning underneath his sternum, gradually worsening as he goes about his real life, and only dissipating once he’s back in that tiny apartment, or sitting across from Jackson in the dim light of the bar. It’s that feeling--that craving to hear from them, to know that they’re okay, to hear about every mundane detail of their day--that made Jinyoung realize exactly how far their little charade has gone.

Jinyoung sighs to himself, deletes the search, and tries again.

_ “fake relationship turned real” _

The results of that search are mostly webcomics or plots of movies. Go figure. Jinyoung’s life has reached a level of ridiculousness only seen in fiction.

For all the playing at being in love they’re doing, Jinyoung actually sometimes feels like if he doesn’t hear Jackson’s voice often enough, he’ll forget how it sounds. It’s a totally irrational fear--Jinyoung is fairly certain he could live to be a hundred years old and never forget that voice--but it’s a fear that’s been keeping him awake at night, staring at his ceiling and replaying the last thing Jackson said like a broken record in his mind.

_ “codependency” _

Jinyoung’s eyes skim over definitions that feature words like “dysfunctional” and “maladaptive.” He huffs a disgruntled breath to himself. He’s well aware that this thing--whatever it is--isn’t exactly healthy. He doesn’t need a smartass search engine reminding him, thank you very much.

_ “is codependency actually bad” _

Unsurprisingly, the general consensus is yes. Jinyoung stifles a groan. Why won’t the search engine just give him what he wants: at least one search result that vaguely hints at the possibility that what they’re doing is permissible in some circumstances? It shouldn’t be this difficult to get strangers on the internet to blindly agree with his choices. That’s what the internet is  _ for, _ damnit. He jabs the backspace button extra hard with his thumb, just to be petty. Jinyoung knows perfectly well that these aren’t the questions he should be asking, and he feels like his phone knows it. The cursor blinks in the empty search bar, taunting him.

_ “how to tell if you’re in lo--” _

“Jinyoung-hyung!”

Jinyoung’s fingers spasm at the sudden interruption, causing him to fumble with the phone and nearly drop it out of shock. He clutches the device to his chest, locking the screen and looking up for the person who called his name. Youngjae is approaching the nurses station, waving and smiling wide, oblivious to the moment of sheer panic he just caused.

“What brings you here?” Youngjae asks innocently, leaning against the counter next to Jinyoung. “Suhyun-ssi is already here for room twelve. Did she forget to call you?”

“Ah, I guess so,” Jinyoung agrees too quickly, trying not to look suspicious.

“Are you okay?” Youngjae asks, eyes drifting down to where Jinyoung is still clutching his phone for dear life. Jinyoung unclenches his fingers and slips his phone into his pocket, attempting to appear casual.

“Fine,” Jinyoung says, but it comes out slightly squeaky. He clears his throat and tries again.  _ “Fine.” _

“I know that face,” Youngjae says, eyes narrowing in like a homing missile to all of Jinyoung’s problems. He points a finger at Jinyoung’s chest. “You’ve got a secret.”

Jinyoung bites his lip as he considers how to respond. He doesn’t actually have any patients to see in Youngjae’s department--he’d just been absentmindedly wandering the hospital’s halls and ended up here somehow. Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe he wandered here because, subconsciously, he wants to talk about his situation with someone, and he knew Youngjae was that best option available.

Jinyoung looks around for eavesdroppers. The rest of the staff are still ignoring them completely. Still, he leans in and lowers his voice, just to be safe. “I need help.”

That was probably the wrong way to phrase that, if Youngjae’s wide eyes and concerned expression are any indication.

“What’s wrong?” Youngjae asks, lowering his voice to match Jinyoung’s.

“It’s not bad,” Jinyoung quickly corrects. “Well, it  _ is _ bad, but not like you’re thinking.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Youngjae asks, reaching out a hand to press against Jinyoung’s forehead, no doubt assessing for a fever. “You’re acting weird. Do you know where we are? What’s today’s date?”

“I’m not delirious,” Jinyoung protests, nudging Youngjae’s hand away. “I’m just… flustered.”

“Flustered?” Youngjae asks, eyebrows rising appraisingly. He must see something significant in Jinyoung’s expression, because after a moment he nods grimly. “Follow me.”

Youngjae leads Jinyoung down to the end of the hall, through a code-accessible door, and into what is apparently the unit’s kitchen.

“Is this necessary?” Jinyoung asks, as Youngjae shuts the door behind them.

“Trust me, if you want anything kept secret, this is the place to do it. Anyone coming in has to enter the code, which gives us three seconds of warning. Plus the ice machine is so loud that nobody can listen from outside.”

Jinyoung has to admit, Youngjae’s logic is sound. It makes him wonder exactly how many secrets Youngjae collects at work, that he discovered a special location to do so. Youngjae rifles through the fridge as he talks and emerges with two juice boxes, one of which he passes to Jinyoung. Yep, he’s definitely done this a few times.

“Now, spill, what’s bothering you?” Youngjae asks, unwrapping his straw and poking it into his juice box. He hops up to sit on the counter, looking so at home that Jinyoung almost laughs at the absurdity of it all.  _ Therapist Youngjae is in session. _ “It must be big for you to be throwing around words like ‘flustered.’”

“Okay,” Jinyoung says, then stops. He never realized that getting advice about his situation meant he would actually have to  _ talk _ about it. He fiddles with the wrapper of his straw, trying to think of a way to broach the topic without sounding totally pathetic.

“Oh my God,” Youngjae erupts after a few silent moments, grabbing the straw from Jinyoung, unwrapping it in a millisecond, and sticking it into Jinyoung’s juicebox forcefully.  _ “Talk.” _

“Fine,” Jinyoung sighs, setting his juice box aside. “Remember that bartender at Raymond’s?”

Youngjae slurps at his juice. “The one who was constantly undressing you with his eyes? Of course.”

“Shut up.” Jinyoung says, face heating even as the lonely goblin in his head does cartwheels at the possibility that that’s even remotely true. “Anyways, I went back there by myself one night, and he asked me for a favor--”

“Was it the kind of favor that ends in mutual climax?” Youngjae asks, his lips twisting mischievously.

“Oh my God,  _ shut up. _ I'm not going to tell the story if you're going to interrupt me with unnecessary commentary.”

Youngjae cackles, unrepentant. “Fine. Go on.”

“So it turns out he's only working at the bar to pay for his kids to go to private school--”

“Aww, really? How sweet!”

Jinyoung glares at him for interrupting, and Youngjae makes an exaggerated zipping-the-mouth-shut gesture.

“--but he can't tell them that, because they'd feel guilty and wouldn't go. So he lied to them and told them that every time he's working at the bar, he's actually sleeping over at his boyfriend's house.”

Youngjae chews on his straw absentmindedly as his forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Okay…”

“But he doesn't have a boyfriend. Well, didn't have one, anyways--” Youngjae’s jaw drops, straw dangling from his lip. “--I trust you see where I'm going with this.”

“Jinyoung-hyung, you  _ didn't.” _

“I did,” Jinyoung admits wearily. “That’s not even the bad part.”

Youngjae blinks a few times, processing the information. “How can it get worse?”

“Turns out my oldest friend Jaebum is Jackson’s kids’ teacher--” Youngjae gasps aloud, clearly eating this up “--and now Jaebum thinks I’m in a relationship and I’ve been hiding it from him.”

Youngjae leans back until his head bangs against a cabinet. “Well, shit.”

“Eloquently put.”

“What are you going to do?” Youngjae asks, brow furrowing again.

Jinyoung puts his chin on his fist, miming deep thought. “Well, gee, Youngjae, it’s funny you should ask, let me just tell you my eight-step plan for solving this dilemma! Step one,” Jinyoung reaches forward and smacks Youngjae upside the head. Youngjae yelps and drops his straw. “Why the hell do you think I said I need help? I  _ don’t know what I’m going to do.” _

“There’s no need for violence,” Youngjae grumbles, rubbing his head and staring forlornly at his chewed-up straw on the floor of the kitchen. “You could always tell Jaebum the truth.”

“Yes, because that would go so well,” Jinyoung snipes. “He’d tease me forever if he knew.”  _ Or pity me forever, _ Jinyoung adds in his head. “Or he’d do something infinitely worse, like tell my mother.”

“Why can’t you just keep up the act for him, too?” Youngjae asks with a shrug. “Pretend you’re actually dating Jackson?”

“Because then he’d want to  _ meet  _ Jackson. That cannot happen.”

Youngjae shakes his head and makes a disappointed noise. “If Jackson isn’t willing to meet your best friend, then he’s not a very good fake boyfriend.”

“Not the point, Youngjae-ah,  _ focus!” _

“The way I see it, you’ve got two options,” Youngjae says, jumping off the counter. “Tell Jaebum the truth and face the music, or tell him the lie, and hope he doesn’t ask too many questions.”

“Solid gold advice, there, Youngjae,” Jinyoung groans.

Youngjae claps a hand on Jinyoung’s shoulder. “That’ll be fifty dollars.”

 

//

 

Jinyoung heads to his lunch appointment with Jaebum the next day with sweaty palms. His little talk with Youngjae had brought exactly zero insight into his situation, not to mention the fact that he’s been diligently repressing his earlier foray into desperate googling since it happened.  _ One problem at a time, Park Jinyoung. _

His loosely structured plan is to let Jaebum do most of the talking, see how Jaebum feels about the situation, and decide in the moment whether or not to tell the truth. It’s probably the worst plan he’s developed in his adult life (apart from the whole fake dating scheme, of course), but it’s all he’s got and he’s running with it. Better to run full-speed toward certain destruction than face it timidly with foolish plans. 

Jaebum is already seated when Jinyoung arrives at their favorite restaurant. Jinyoung takes the seat opposite, mumbling a nervous greeting, and is met with steely eyes and stony silence. Jinyoung expected this, but it still makes his mouth go dry. Contrary to his intimidating facial features and enigmatic personality, Jaebum is verbose when he wants to be. His first reaction to interpersonal turbulence is to talk it through until it’s resolved, no matter how long it takes. The silent treatment is more Jinyoung’s specialty; he likes to abstain from discussing an issue until he’s considered it from every perspective. It speaks volumes to the level of betrayal Jaebum must be feeling that he’s refusing to even vocalize it.

Even though Jaebum doesn’t stay quiet for long, every second that passes feels like an eternity. Jinyoung’s anxiety kicks into high gear while he waits. He feels for his pulse in his wrist; it’s pounding so fast that he couldn’t count it if he tried. Jaebum’s jaw clenches rhythmically as he watches Jinyoung through hooded eyes. Jinyoung makes a mental note to give Bambam and Yugyeom a hug when he sees them next; if this is what they have to deal with at school, they need all the support they can get.

After their orders are placed, Jaebum clears his throat and arches an eyebrow expectantly.

“So, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry,” Jinyoung says instantly, then bites his cheek to keep from spilling the whole story immediately. Keeping things from Jaebum makes him feel sick to his stomach. He wants to curl in on himself like an armadillo until he’s just a nervous ball on the floor. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you.”

(Yes, he does. It’s because his entire life is ridiculous. Even Google laughs at him.)

Jaebum remains impassive. “How long?”

Jinyoung does the mental math: the amount of time he’s actually known Jackson, plus the lie they told the kids. “Almost four months.”

Jaebum’s eyes widen, the first glimpse of emotion Jinyoung has seen from him. “Four  _ months? _ Jinyoung!”

“I know, I’m a horrible person,” Jinyoung groans, putting his face into his hands to hide it while he weaves his web of lies. Even if Jaebum isn’t expecting Jinyoung to be dishonest today, he still knows all of Jinyoung’s tells. One slip-up and this conversation takes a very different direction. “I guess I was just worried you wouldn’t approve, with the kids and all.”

“Approve?” Jaebum scoffs. “First of all, I’m not your mother--”

“But you report back to her,” Jinyoung interjects, peeking through his fingers to gauge Jaebum’s temper. He actually doesn’t look that mad, mostly just uncertain, and disappointed. Jinyoung lowers his hands. Somehow the disappointment is so much worse.

“--and second of all, it’s not like he’s asking for your hand in marriage.” Jaebum pauses, suddenly looking unsure of himself. The doubt on his face feels like a knife twisting in Jinyoung’s gut. “He’s not, right?”

“No, I am not engaged,” Jinyoung says gently. “I promise, should that unlikely day ever occur, you will be the first to know.”

“Even before your mom?” Jaebum asks, the ghost of a smirk turning up the corner of his mouth.

The laugh that bubbles out of his own chest takes Jinyoung by surprise. “Of course.”

Jaebum nods to himself, something like relief easing his expression. Jinyoung swallows back a rising lump in his throat as he watches the tension bleed from Jaebum’s shoulders.  _ He _ did that, he broke Jaebum’s trust so thoroughly that Jaebum thinks it’s possible Jinyoung would get engaged without telling him first.

What a mess.

The arrival of their food gives Jinyoung a much needed respite from Jaebum’s scrutiny. Clearly Jaebum isn’t ready to hear the whole sordid tale; Jinyoung has caused enough damage today already with just the simple version. Jinyoung rehearses his story in his head as Jaebum attacks his food with his characteristic gusto. Watching Jaebum eat is, as always, like watching a nature program about predators and prey--fascinating and slightly sickening.

“So who is he?” Jaebum asks a few minutes later, once half his food has evaporated from his bowl. He pokes at his remaining noodles with his chopsticks, feigning nonchalance. Jinyoung snorts.

“Don’t act like you didn’t look him up in the school records the second after I left that day.”

Jaebum drops the pretense immediately, leaning forward with an eager spark in his eye. “Whatever happened to the bartender, though? I thought you really had a thing for him, and now you’re already with somebody else?”

Jinyoung makes a face. Jaebum’s eyes widen.

“Unless… he  _ is _ the bartender.” Jinyoung nods miserably. Jaebum actually laughs at that, a sharp bark of surprise. “I can’t believe you actually had the balls to go for it!”

“Thanks,” Jinyoung mutters. He pushes his food around his plate, trying to find a phrase that’s as close to the truth as his situation allows. “He asked for a favor and it just kind of… snowballed.”

Jaebum grins lasciviously, chipmunk cheeks full of food straining with the motion.

“Not that kind of favor, you pervert,” Jinyoung sighs, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “I swear, you and Youngjae are one and the same.”

Jaebum frowns, thankfully swallowing his mouthful before asking, “Youngjae knew before me?”

“I only just told him yesterday, because I needed advice on how to tell you,” Jinyoung assures him quickly. He’s hurt Jaebum’s feelings enough for one day, thank you very much.

Jaebum nods, apparently appeased with that explanation. He stares Jinyoung down for a few moments, letting the silence thicken between them and giving ample time for Jinyoung’s stomach to tie itself in a few more knots. Jaebum sets his elbows on the table and leans forward, resting his chin on clasped hands.

“Well, you know what this means, then.”

_ I’m fucked? _ Jinyoung’s brain offers unhelpfully. He shrugs.

“I have to meet him,” Jaebum says. Jinyoung feels his face twist unhappily. This is the worst-case scenario he dreaded, but did he expect any less from Jaebum? “If things are getting serious, that means I have to, you know… vet him out.”

“I wouldn’t say things are getting serious,” Jinyoung argues pathetically. Jaebum rolls his eyes.

“You’re picking his kids up from school. If it’s not serious, then it’s kidnapping. Either way, he and I need to talk.”

Jinyoung chews on his lip in lieu of responding. He looks around the restaurant, out the nearest window, anywhere but Jaebum’s eyes, in search of a change of topic.

“I hear the weather is supposed to warm up next wee--”

“Seriously?” Jaebum interrupts, and Jinyoung looks back to see Jaebum shaking his head in disbelief. “You can’t honestly think I would fall for that.”

“It was worth a shot,” Jinyoung grumbles.

Jaebum’s brow furrows slightly. “Why don’t you want me to meet him?”

As Jinyoung watches a flash of insecurity dance across Jaebum’s features, he wishes for the hundredth time that he could just be honest.  _ You meeting him makes it real, _ he wants to say,  _ and it’s already as close to real as I can handle. _

“You teach his kids at school,” Jinyoung says instead. “I can’t imagine that meeting going any way but horribly.”

“I’ll be civil,” Jaebum says earnestly.

Jinyoung laughs bitterly, imagining Jackson finally meeting the infamous Mr. Im, source of his boys’ greatest school-related tribulations. “It’s not you I’m worried about.”

The muscles in Jaebum’s jaw twitch. Jinyoung belatedly realizes how terrible that sounds, and how generally terrible he’s made Jackson seem today, and attempts to backtrack. “Look, I’ll try to arrange a meeting, okay? Just… don’t get your hopes up. He’s a busy guy.”

“I’m gathering that,” Jaebum says slowly. He sits back and looks at Jinyoung for a moment that feels so long, Jinyoung wonders if it will ever end. When he speaks, he’s wearing an expression that, for all the years they’ve known each other, Jinyoung still can’t decipher. “Are you in love with him?”

“What? Are you--I’ve known him four months!”

“A lot can happen in four months,” Jaebum warns, and Jinyoung wonders if he’s aware exactly how much he sounds like his mother. “Just tell me you’re being safe.”

Jinyoung chokes on air. “Are you asking if we use protection?”

“That’s not what I--” Jaebum interrupts himself with a frustrated noise. “Look, I know you get in over your head sometimes. Just promise you’ll take it slow.”

Jinyoung thinks back to the search history he deleted yesterday and marvels at how even only knowing half of the story Jaebum still somehow manages to hit the nail on the head.

“I’ll be careful,” Jinyoung says, to himself as much as to Jaebum. “I promise.”

 

//

 

It’s no longer an unusual occurrence for Jinyoung to show up at Raymond’s without a horde of nurses in tow. Jinyoung can’t help but cringe to himself when he thinks about the first time he came to the bar unaccompanied. Even so far removed from it, and even knowing now that his presence was never unwelcome in Jackson’s mind, the lengths to which Jinyoung went to appear casual make his hands curl into claws of their own volition. He wore scrubs, for crying out loud. He sat in the parking lot for several minutes, doing yoga breaths to calm down. He was a mess.

As Jinyoung enters the bar and lays eyes on Jackson and his stomach drops into his shoes, he realizes that he’s still a mess. Just in different ways. When Jackson looks up at him, something softens in his face, and Jinyoung has to swallow back the sick, happy feeling that bubbles up in his throat and makes him want to shout things that shouldn’t be shouted. Certainly not here, and maybe not ever.

“Hello,” Jinyoung says as he takes his usual seat at the bar. Jackson focuses on scrubbing the bar with a rag, sneaking glances at Jinyoung out of the corner of his eye. Is this a new game Jackson is playing, pretending to be strangers again? Jinyoung never would have expected it himself, but he loves this part of their relationship, that he never knows what curveball Jackson is going to throw him next. If this is a competition, Jinyoung is going to win, or die trying. He does his best to look calm and disinterested.

“What can I get you?” Jackson asks dully.

“The usual,” Jinyoung says, tearing his eyes away from Jackson and glancing around the room with what he hopes is a look of boredom. There are a few nurses scattered around at tables, some alone, some in pairs, and most looking thoroughly uninterested in whatever is going on between him and Jackson.

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember. What do you drink again?” Jackson asks, finally folding the rag and placing it neatly on the bar top. When Jinyoung looks in his eyes, they’re flat and cold. Suddenly, Jinyoung is struck with the realization that he’s been misreading the situation. Jackson, bless him, is not good enough of an actor to pull off that level of detachment.

“Is something wrong?” Jinyoung asks, leaning in and lowering his voice.

“Nothing in particular,” Jackson says mildly, but there’s something off in his voice that makes Jinyoung’s stomach turn sour. “I just don’t remember off the top of my head what every customer drinks, that’s all.”

That stings. Jinyoung leans back and tries to get a grasp on the situation. This indifferent behavior is about as cruel as Jackson is capable of being, and Jinyoung feels Jackson’s hurtful intentions like thorns pricking at his heart. Has he done anything recently that would cause Jackson to be so hostile? He’s been spending a lot more time with the boys, certainly. Bambam even invited Jinyoung to his upcoming birthday party, much to Jinyoung’s secret delight. Is Jackson angry that Jinyoung is taking their charade too far? That seems ridiculous, but… stranger things have happened.

“Sseun-ah,” Jinyoung says, trying not to sound as hurt as he feels. Jackson flinches at the pet name, but otherwise doesn’t reply. “What’s going on?”

Jackson places his hands on the bar, as though bracing himself. When he meets Jinyoung’s eyes, his expression is shuttered. Jinyoung feels a chill down his spine.

“I think we should stop seeing each other.”

The room spins. This is it--what Jinyoung always knew was coming eventually. He figured he’d have more time to prepare himself, though. To have everything he’s been cultivating so carefully, everything he’s spent hours daydreaming about taken away from him so quickly, so cruelly, feels like a glass of ice water thrown in his face.

Jinyoung clears his throat and attempts to make his voice steady, even as his insides quiver in shock. “What makes you say that?”

“We’ve done enough that the boys buy it. I think they’re starting to get attached, which won’t end well for anyone. Plus you’ve clearly got other relationships you want to pursue, so--”

“Wait,” Jinyoung interrupts, so shocked and confused he can’t bother to be polite. Other relationships? What the hell is Jackson talking about? “What do you mean, ‘other relationships’?”

“The guy you were having lunch with today,” Jackson says, adopting a clearly artificial expression of innocence that blatantly contradicts the ice in his voice. “He’s handsome. Congratulations.”

“What--” Jinyoung sputters, wondering what bizarre universe he’s fallen into. What is Jackson talking about? The only people in Jinyoung’s life are Youngjae, who Jackson already knows, and-- “Do you mean  _ Jaebum-hyung?” _

“You two looked intense,” Jackson says, tone dripping with venom. He gives Jinyoung a searing look. “Was he proposing? Smart man. Mazel tov.”

“He’s my oldest friend,” Jinyoung explains, trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness of all of this and failing. Just, the idea that Jackson thinks he’s dating  _ Jaebum, _ of all people… That would be like dating his brother. “I’ve known him since middle school.”

“Then your parents will surely approve of him,” Jackson mutters, clearly not amused. “I bet he’s got a great job, too. Real husband material.”

“Yeah, he’s got a great job,” Jinyoung agrees, giving in and full-on laughing at the ridiculousness of this situation, “At your kids’ school.”

That stops Jackson short. He stares at Jinyoung, narrowing his eyes like he’s looking for a lie. The suspicion on his face, so uncannily similar to the look Jaebum had given him earlier, pushes Jinyoung over the edge of sanity. He puts his head on the bar top, laughing so hard his shoulders shake and he has to gasp for air. The  _ irony, _ oh, the painful, hilarious irony.

“What’s so funny?” Jackson asks, and flicks his arm. “Yah, is this a joke to you? I’m breaking up with you.”

“No, you’re not,” Jinyoung says, lifting his head and taking a moment to wipe away tears of hysteria and relief. Only Jackson could misinterpret a situation so thoroughly that he thinks Jaebum is a threat. Clearly Jinyoung has been playing his cards closer to his chest than he thought, if Jackson still can’t see how hopelessly far gone Jinyoung is for him. That’s a minor success, at least. Jackson passes him one of the little square bar napkins. Jinyoung uses it to dab at his eyes, sniffling. “Thank you. Five stars for that performance, Sseun-ah. Really, great stuff.”

“I was being serious,” Jackson mumbles, lower lip extending ever-so-slightly in a pout. The tension has dissipated from the space between them. Even without Jinyoung explaining his side of the story, Jackson already looks relieved, and Jinyoung wonders how he’s survived this far in life trusting people so easily. Who is looking out for this man, keeping him safe from people who would take advantage of that perpetuating innocence? Jinyoung just wants to reach out and cup that face in both of his hands and lean forward and-- _ no. _

“I know you were, which is why it was so cute,” Jinyoung coos. Jackson grabs the soda gun from its holster on the bar edge and aims it at Jinyoung threateningly. Jinyoung pushes it away, laughing. “Trust me, though, you have nothing to worry about.”

“What do you mean, he works at my kids’ school?” Jackson asks, returning the soda gun to its holster.

“You know that hip-hop dance teacher the kids are always complaining about?”

Jackson gasps. “Your oldest friend is  _ Mr. Im?” _

“Thinking back, it makes so much sense now,” Jinyoung admits, nodding. “I don’t know why it took me so long to figure it out.”

“Maybe if you spent less time  _ sending me food at work _ you would have figured it out sooner,” Jackson says, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyebrows are doing an overly exaggerated scrunchy thing that Jinyoung thinks is Jackson’s attempt to look stern.

Busted.

(Although, if that’s his “I’m disappointed in your choices” face, it’s no wonder the boys get away with so much. He couldn’t intimidate a hamster with that face. Jinyoung makes a mental note to coach him about that later.)

“How did you know?”

After a few evenings spent in Jackson’s apartment for drama night, Jinyoung noticed a trend--Jackson always comes home from work absolutely ravenous. After some subtle interrogation, Jinyoung learned from the boys that Jackson typically either forgets or just doesn’t bother to pack himself a dinner to take to the call center when he works late. He eats junk out of the vending machine all night, or eats nothing at all, and then proceeds to inhale everything edible within his line of sight when he gets home.

The thought of Jackson sitting at his call center cubicle, holding his hand over the microphone headset so his customers don’t hear his stomach growling, was nearly enough to break Jinyoung’s heart. So he started ordering takeout and sending it to the call center. It was only going to be one time. Then Jinyoung got ahold of Jackson’s call center work schedule (thank you, Bambam and Yugyeom), and one time became several times, and several times became… every time Jackson was at work. It was kind of fun for Jinyoung, picking out food that he thought Jackson would like and imagining the look on his face when the delivery worker showed up and called his name.

Though, thinking about it now, the whole thing is pretty incriminating. No one could hear that story and think what Jinyoung was doing was platonic.

“I asked Mark, and he said it wasn’t him,” Jackson explains, smug smile ruining his stern illusion. “Who else would it be?”

“Wow, you need more friends,” Jinyoung says, unable to keep from smiling, and there it is--that head-thrown-back, hyena cackle that makes Jinyoung warm all over. Jackson pushes himself off of the bar and heads to the taps, where he begins pouring Jinyoung a pint, all the while shaking his head and grinning. He returns with a pint that’s nearly perfect and a smile so big it’s practically splitting his face in two. Jinyoung wonders what his own face looks like. Probably sickeningly fond, which is how he feels at the moment.

“So what were you and your friend talking about at lunch today?” Jackson asks, sliding the glass across the counter. He rests his elbows on the bar and his chin on his hands and leans forward, relaxed and familiar in the way that never fails to get Jinyoung’s heart pounding. “It looked pretty intense.”

“Nosy,” Jinyoung scolds half-heartedly, folding his arms on the bar and leaning forward, too. At this short distance, Jinyoung can examine the deep brown of Jackson’s eyes, can count the individual laugh lines at the corners. He quickly tamps down the affection bubbling up in his chest, the feeling that makes him want to write poetry about coffee-colored irises and angelic lashes, and leans back just enough that he stops feeling quite so overwhelmed. “If you must know, we were talking about you.”

That does exactly what Jinyoung knew it would do, which is tickle Jackson pink. He can’t hold back the smug smile that spreads slowly across his face at the idea of Jinyoung talking about him. The man has a praise kink a mile wide, and Jinyoung is hopeless but to humor him.

“What did you tell him?”

“That you’re my boyfriend.”

Jackson covers his mouth with his hands and quietly shrieks. Jinyoung honestly can’t tell if he’s genuinely pleased at the information or if he’s just teasing Jinyoung. Either way, Jinyoung blushes.

“I actually ran into him at the school that day the boys fought,” Jinyoung explains with a sigh. “He saw me trying to take them home, and I didn’t really have a choice after that.”

“What does he think about you dating?” Jackson asks, suddenly seeming unsure of himself. The rest of that sentence,  _ someone with kids, _ hangs unspoken in the air.

“He was happy,” Jinyoung says slowly. Although, thinking back on it, he’s not entirely sure Jaebum was happy. Relieved, perhaps. But that makes Jinyoung sound pathetic again, so he leaves it out. “The problem is that now he wants to meet you.”

“How is that a problem?” Jackson asks, picking at a cuticle like it isn’t a huge deal. “I’m free next weekend.”

“N-no,” Jinyoung stammers, reaching across the counter to grab Jackson’s hands in panic. He squeezes, hard. “You’re not free. You are a very busy person who has so much going on that he can’t possibly meet his boyfriend’s best friend for what will undoubtedly be  _ the worst lunch in history. _ Repeat that.”

Jackson is busy looking down at his hands in Jinyoung’s. He squeezes them back, gently, almost experimentally.

“Jackson.” Jackson looks up, eye wide and confused. _ “Repeat.” _

“I’m  _ very _ busy,” Jackson says slowly, emphatically.

“Yes,” Jinyoung agrees, relieved. He gives Jackson’s hands a shake, attempting to keep his focus, since Jackson’s eyes keep going soft and thoughtful. “What else?”

“I’m so busy I don’t have time to meet your friend,” Jackson repeats robotically.

“Right. Good.” Jinyoung releases Jackson’s hands. Jackson frowns.

“That doesn’t make me a very good fake boyfriend, though. I should at least return the favor, right?”

“That’s exactly what Youngjae said,” Jinyoung says, slouching in relief. Putting Jackson and Jaebum in the same room, with Jaebum’s temper and Jackson’s pride, would be like throwing matches at a container of lighter fluid. Eventually one of his lies would catch, and everything would explode. Jinyoung doubts he would walk out of such a meeting with either friendship intact.

“You talked to Youngjae about me?” Jackson asks.

“I told him the whole story,” Jinyoung admits, suddenly nervous that he overstepped his bounds. Youngjae isn’t really a threat; he doesn’t know any of the other people in their little drama. But maybe Jackson doesn’t want it spread around. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Jackson says, a small smile softening his face. “I’m glad you have people to talk to.”

“If this is going to turn into a lecture about me needing more friends, I’m going to leave,” Jinyoung grumbles. “I’ll have you know that I have--” he counts quickly in his head “--five friends now. That’s more than enough.”

“Five?” Jackson asks, quirking an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Yes, five.” Jinyoung hold up his hand and ticks them off on his fingers. “Jaebum, Youngjae, you, and Bambam and Yugyeom.”

Jackson makes a pinched face. “Teenagers don’t count.”

“They totally count. I earned that friendship, through food. And television,” Jinyoung pouts. Jackson laughs weakly, the sound trailing off into silence almost as quickly as it began. Jackson’s gaze loses focus, and his expression turns sour, like he tasted something bad. When his eyes eventually drift back to Jinyoung, they’re wider and brighter than usual, and convey an immense sadness that stops whatever platitudes Jinyoung had been planning to spout dead in his throat. Jackson turns his face away quickly, gaze casting about the bar for something on which to focus.

“How are the kids?” Jackson finally asks, his voice soft and tremulous. He grabs the rag off the bar top again, scrubbing at invisible spots in what Jinyoung knows is an attempt to hide his vulnerability. “I barely see them anymore.”

Jinyoung realizes in that moment that, although he might feel like a role model or surrogate parent to Bambam and Yugyeom, he can’t truly understand how Jackson feels. Jackson has raised them singlehandedly for the past several years, and now, right when they’re going through their most turbulent, formative years, he’s been forced to take a step back. It must be awful for him to only see them for an hour or two each day, to hear about their troubles at school and be able to do nothing but cheer them up so they can face another day. Jinyoung can’t imagine how much Jackson misses them, how much it must hurt to be forced to allow someone else to be there for his kids in his place.

“Don’t say that,” Jinyoung murmurs, wishing he could offer more comfort but lacking the words to do so. Jackson continues scrubbing, but his face is pinched, and his eyes are trained steadily downward. A teardrop falls from the tip of his nose, lands on the bar top, and is immediately wiped away by Jackson’s rag. Jinyoung’s heart clenches. “Hey.” Jinyoung grabs Jackson’s hands again, stilling them from their busy work. “Am I spending to much time with them? Do you need me to back off?”

“No!” Jackson says sharply, finally looking at Jinyoung, through eyes shiny with tears but fierce and intense. “They love spending time with you, and I’d rather they have someone around, if I can’t be there. I just wish…”

“...it didn’t have to be like this?” Jinyoung finishes for him. Jackson nods. Jinyoung gives Jackson’s hands a squeeze. “It won’t always be like this. This is temporary.”

“I hope you’re right,” Jackson says, taking one of his hands back to scrub at his eyes with the back of it. He sniffs and takes a deep breath, then looks back up at Jinyoung with a watery smile. “I’m really glad you’re not dating someone.”

Jinyoung laughs, humoring Jackson’s abrupt topic change, if only because he can’t stand another moment of watching Jackson cry. “I can’t imagine why.”

“I’m not jealous, if that’s what you’re implying,” Jackson mutters. It’s amazing, how quickly Jackson can just flip a switch and turn vulnerability into comedy, tears into laughter. Still, something about it doesn’t sit right with Jinyoung. He wonders how often Jackson hides his own emotions to keep everyone else from becoming uncomfortable.

“I would never,” Jinyoung says, faux-innocently, as he takes a sip of his beer. His other hand is still clasped in Jackson’s. He stares at their hands for a while, almost struck dumb by the sight. What a strange thing it is between them, that after only three months of familiarity, they can cover jealousy, humor, gratitude, and grief, all in the course of one conversation, and yet it never feels even the slightest bit unnatural. They just… slipped into it, like they’ve been this way forever. Sometimes, it feels like it was so easy that Jinyoung should be suspicious. Doesn’t it normally take years to reach this level of intimacy? Shouldn’t this be more difficult than it is?

He strokes Jackson’s thumb experimentally with his own. Jackson hums quietly. The sound makes Jinyoung shiver.

_ Boundaries? What are boundaries? _

Reluctantly, Jinyoung withdraws his hand, knowing that the longer he stays, the harder it will be to go. “I should get going.”

Jackson nods, but the pitiful droop of his face says differently. Jinyoung wishes that face didn’t make his heart ache as much as it does. 

“You’re still coming to Bambam’s birthday party this weekend, right?” Jackson asks.

“Of course. I’ll see you there,” Jinyoung says. Jackson steps away to begin loading the dishwasher, as Jinyoung stands up and shrugs on his jacket. It’s nearly May but the weather doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo; the nights are still too brisk to go out without covering up. Jinyoung just hopes it gets warmer for Bambam’s party. They’ll be inside the whole time, of course, but still. If anyone deserves a little sunshine, it’s Bambam. He’s still struggling to keep his chin up, after his suspension. Helping Jinyoung order Jackson secret food is the only thing Bambam’s been interested in in weeks. Which makes Jinyoung wonder… He turns back, pausing a moment. “Jackson?”

Jackson looks from his task. “What’s up?”

“Do you really dislike it when I send you food at work?”

“No,” Jackson says slowly, almost begrudgingly. “It just… makes me confused, that's all.”

Jinyoung feels his heart skip a beat. “What are you confused about?”

Jackson’s eyes are wide and emotive, and for a split second, Jinyoung thinks he sees the ghost of something soft and fond and a little bit scared and Jinyoung thinks he’s never resonated with something so much in his life. Jackson’s eyes clear just as quickly as they lost their focus, and his lips twist wryly. “Never mind.” He waves Jinyoung away and turns back to the dishwasher. “Go on, drive safe.”

Jinyoung heads to the door. He pauses with one hand on the handle and looks back. Jackson isn’t paying him any attention, but Jinyoung says it anyways.

“For what it's worth, I think I'm confused too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miss me? Lol jk I know you did
> 
> I graduated! And made a [twitter](https://twitter.com/star_park_ssi) ! And a [CC](https://curiouscat.me/star_park_ssi) (whatever that is)! I’m getting hip with the times, y'all. Look out.
> 
> As always, the posting schedule is based entirely on when the moons of Jupiter are in alignment soooooo see ya later


	10. La question c'est voulez-vous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Voulez-vous" by ABBA.

The day of Bambam’s party arrives sooner than Jinyoung would like. He’s spent all week fretting over what to get the kid for a gift, subtly fishing for clues when he goes over to their apartment on drama night, and interrogating Yugyeom whenever Bambam is out of earshot. Jinyoung wants to get Bambam something nice, but no so nice that Jackson feels bad, since Jackson already made it clear that the party itself is the only present he could afford this year. A party isn’t complete without presents, though, and Jinyoung genuinely wants to do something nice for Bambam.

He ended up getting a gift card to Bambam’s favorite store at the mall. It looks kind of pathetic, just carrying a card around, instead of a wrapped gift, but Jinyoung has seen the way Bambam frowns at his own sweaters and sensible loafers. He knows he would be completely out of his depth trying to find something Bambam would actually wear.

Jinyoung arrives to Jackson’s apartment to the sound of raised voices. He hastily stabs in the door code (Bambam gave it to him weeks ago, so they wouldn’t have to keep answering the door on drama night) and enters the apartment to see Jackson throwing a wad of fabric at Bambam’s face.

“If you hate it so much, then throw it away for all I care!” Jackson shouts.

Bambam catches the ball of cloth and crumples it up in his hands. “Maybe I will!”

Bambam storms into his bedroom and slams the door hard enough that the walls shake slightly. Jinyoung winces. Jackson notices Jinyoung standing in the hallway and huffs, spinning on his heel and storming into the kitchen. Jinyoung enters the living room to find Yugyeom on the couch, watching TV, completely unperturbed.

“What just happened?” Jinyoung asks.

“Oh, hi hyung,” Yugyeom says, eyes flicking up momentarily from the TV. “Jackson got us all matching shirts for the party and Bambam won’t wear his. He says it’s tacky.”

“Ah,” Jinyoung says, taking a seat next to Yugyeom on the couch. He feels immensely relieved that he didn’t try to buy Bambam clothes after all, if that’s the reaction he would have gotten.

“Yours is right there,” Yugyeom says, pointing without looking at the coffee table. A t-shirt, striped in pale grey and pastel pink, is folded there.

“Why pink?” Jinyoung asks, picking up the shirt and unfolding it. It’s just a plain t-shirt, nothing to get upset about, except for maybe the color. The back is bare, too, nothing embarrassing embroidered on it. Knowing Jackson’s penchant for sentimentality and dramatics, this could have been a lot worse.

“It’s _‘hip,’”_ Yugyeom explains, eyeing the shirt with disdain as Jinyoung re-folds it and puts it back on the table. Jinyoung would never admit it out loud, but it’s not exactly his style, either.

“Hey, punk, I’m pretty sure I saw you looking at something similar the last time we were at the mall.”

Yugyeom’s eyes grow wide. “Was this your idea?”

“I had nothing to do with this,” Jinyoung says holding his hands up defensively. “Your hyung just knows your taste, I think.”

“But… _matching,”_ Yugyeom whines, sinking even further into the couch cushions. He looks at Jinyoung with pitiful eyes. “Our friends are going to be there.”

“He was just trying to do something nice,” Jinyoung reminds him gently, even as he winces internally at the idea of being forced to wear matching clothes with his dad in front of his friends at boys’ age. He would’ve thrown a fit, too. “You should be grateful.”

Yugyeom pushes himself off of the couch and onto his knees on the floor. He clasps his hands in front of his chest in supplication, giving Jinyoung a look that reminds him of an abandoned puppy. “Please help us. You can stop this. You have that power.”

Jinyoung has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “Fine, I’ll see what I can do.”

Yugyeom whimpers, falling forward in a full bow. His voice comes out muffled from where his face is pressed into the carpet. “Bless you, sir.”

Jinyoung does laugh at that. He nudges Yugyeom in the side with his foot until the kid flops over on his side, still holding his clasped hands in the air. Jinyoung sighs and gets up, heading to the kitchen to do some damage control and wondering at exactly which point he became the resident peacemaker in this house.

Jackson is sitting at the kitchen table, staring at an old polaroid of the boys and stroking their faces lovingly. Jinyoung can’t help but roll his eyes. This entire family is so overdramatic, it’s a wonder they ever get anything done.

“So that didn’t go very well,” Jinyoung says, sitting down in the chair across from Jackson, whose face crumples with emotion.

“Why is he embarrassed by me?” Jackson wails, nearly throwing his upper body down to sulkily pillow his face in his arms on the table.

“Because he's sixteen years old,” Jinyoung says, tugging the photo out from underneath Jackson’s arms so it doesn’t get crushed in his melodrama. “Everything you do is guaranteed to be embarrassing.”

“I used to be the cool hyung,” Jackson sniffles into his arms.

Jinyoung pats his back. “I'm not sure that's true.”

Jackson makes a wounded noise, not unlike a cat that was unexpectedly dropped into a bath. Jinyoung has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud.

“Would you have worn matching shirts with your whole family, at his age?” Jinyoung asks, when he’s sure his voice won’t crack from the hilarity of this situation. If he were even a remotely decent writer, he’d sell this family drama to the nearest TV station and make millions.

Jackson lifts his face and sets his chin on his folded arms. His cheeks are flushed and his eyelashes are damp. He’s actually _shedding real tears_ , over matching t-shirts. This is television gold. The episodes practically write themselves.

“Yes,” Jackson says petulantly, “because I loved and respected my parents.”

“Don’t bullshit me, you know you would’ve been mortified.”

“Fine,” Jackson mutters, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, “I would’ve hated it. But this is different! I’m not like my parents! They had no sense of style whatsoever!”

Jinyoung doesn’t justify that with a response. He simply raises his eyebrows, and hopes his expression is enough to convey his meaning. It is, if the look of horror that dawns on Jackson’s face is any indication.

“Oh my God,” Jackson gasps. “I’ve become my parents.”

“It’s okay, it happens to everyone at some point,” Jinyoung says grimly. “Or so I’ve heard, anyway.”

“This answers so many questions,” Jackson whispers, before clasping his hands his hands over his mouth. He looks off into the middle distance, eyes wide and stunned. “The karaoke incident!”

“Okay, one problem at a time, please,” Jinyoung says, fighting back his own burning curiosity about whatever happened during “the karaoke incident.” Jackson is still in a terrified reverie, no doubt re-living multiple situations that confused him throughout the past few years. Jinyoung snaps his fingers in front of Jackson’s face, bringing his attention abruptly back to the issue at hand. “You can’t make the boys wear those shirts. Their friends will never let them live it down.”

“You’re right,” Jackson sighs, sagging back in his chair defeatedly. “I just thought it would be cute, all of us wearing something together.”

“Then let’s compromise. Let the kids wear whatever they want today, and save the matching shirts for another day. I’ll make Bambam promise to wear it at least once.”

“I’d like to see you try to get that kid to do anything,” Jackson scoffs. “If _I_ can’t get him to do it--”

“I’ll wear it another time,” Bambam pipes up from the doorway to the kitchen, where he must have been hiding, listening for the right moment to interject. He clasps his hands in front of his chest in supplication. His eyes are big and pleading. “Please, hyung, just not today.”

“Fine, fine,” Jackson says, waving Bambam’s pout away with a hand. Bambam leaps in the air, hollering in relief. Jinyoung can hear the sound of Yugyeom cheering from the living room.

Jackson looks at Jinyoung in disbelief. Jinyoung tries not to seem too smug as he holds his hands out in front of him, as though to say, _well, there you go, problem solved._

“You are _the worst_ when you’re right about something, you know that?” Jackson says, jabbing a finger in Jinyoung’s direction, but he’s smirking, so he’s probably just annoyed that he was wrong. Also that he’s turned into his parents, which is always difficult news to receive, the first time.

“I didn’t say anything,” Jinyoung protests innocently, ignoring the tongue Jackson sticks out in his direction. _Children,_ all three of them. “Can we go bowling now, please?”

 

//

 

The bowling alley smells like old carpet, stale pizza, and feet. It’s been years since Jinyoung has been inside one, but the smell immediately transports him to his teenage years back in his hometown, hanging out after school and tormenting the alley employees, showing off on the lanes and flirting with anyone who would let him. There’s a familiar feeling he always gets in bowling alleys; the general volume and the permeating sense of playful competition always make him feel itchy and unsettled, like trouble is about to happen, or if it doesn’t, he’ll cause it himself.

Needless to say, Jinyoung has some mixed feelings about the sport. But this is what Bambam wanted, and who is Jinyoung to say no?

The thing Jinyoung never realized about bowling alleys is that they’re way less exciting when you’re an adult chaperoning a half-dozen teenage boys. The kids have devoured six pizzas, made countless fart jokes, and accidentally injured themselves multiple times. Jinyoung has his hands full just making sure all the boys leave with their fingers intact. Yugyeom very sweetly offered to let Jinyoung and Jackson play, but Jinyoung declined. Even though it’s a child’s birthday party, Jinyoung doesn’t trust himself not to get a little competitive, especially with Jackson in attendance. No one wants to watch a couple of adults destroy a group of children at bowling. That’s just in poor taste.

Still, Jinyoung is bored. He’s starting to get a headache from the flickering of the fluorescent lights and the sounds of crashing pins. He’s staring at the hectic neon carpet and zoning out, trying to interpret the trippy shapes like some kind of Rorschach test, when someone leans over his shoulder and breathes on his ear, startling him.

“I think I found a bar over there,” Jackson whispers, directly into Jinyoung’s ear. Tingles shoot down his spine.

“Show me,” Jinyoung rasps. Jackson appears in front of him, grinning like someone who’s looking to cause trouble, and pulls him to his feet.

The bar is on the other side of the busy bowling alley, far enough away that they can’t hear the boys’ yelling, but close enough that they can make sure they’re not doing anything stupid, like sticking their hands in the ball return again. (Really, what did that kid Mingyu think was going to happen? Did he think the balls that comes shooting out of the machine would just… miss him? Jinyoung marvels that any teenage boys make it to adulthood, when their sense of self-preservation is so dangerously low.) There are only three beers on tap, none of which Jinyoung particularly enjoys, but hey, any alcohol is good alcohol when faced with another two hours of sitting around in a bowling alley and not even bowling.

“I think, in all the time we’ve known each other, we’ve never actually had a drink together,” Jackson says, smiling and holding his glass aloft to clink against Jinyoung’s. Jackson takes a series of long gulps from his beer, ending with a dramatic, refreshed sigh that’s right out of a commercial. Jinyoung laughs, even though he could do without the overdramatic lip licking at the end. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to sit and watch you drink every night and not join in?”

“Yes, I’ve been primarily the one making a fool of myself,” Jinyoung agrees wryly, sipping at his own beer. It’s watery, and a little flat, and yet so perfect in this moment that Jinyoung almost gets a little tearful. “I’m excited to see how the tables turn.”

“Do you remember when Mark was telling you about my lack of personal boundaries?” Jackson asks. Jinyoung nods. “He’s been on the receiving end of Drunk Jackson a few too many times.”

“Oh?” Jinyoung asks, taking a long sip of his own beer to hide the way his lip curls at the thought of Jackson getting all up in someone else’s personal space. Especially Mark, that beautiful bastard. Jinyoung can’t compete with that.

(Not that he’s jealous, or anything.)

“Yeah, I get a little touchy-feely,” Jackson admits sheepishly. He rubs at his hair, mussing it up so it sticks out in every direction. Jinyoung thinks about reaching out with both hands and gently smoothing it down, letting his fingers rub through the short hairs at the nape of Jackson’s neck, watching him squirm at the ticklish feeling. He pictures Mark doing the same thing, and feels like breaking something.

(Maybe he’s a little bit jealous.)

“You don’t have to worry about it today, though,” Jackson assures, clearly misinterpreting Jinyoung’s silence. “I won’t drink enough to go that far.”

 _I wish you would,_ Jinyoung thinks. A tiny layer of foam coats Jackson’s upper lip, and Jinyoung has to sit on his hands to keep from reaching out and wiping it off. What is it about bowling alleys that makes him want to behave badly?

“Should we play a game?” Jackson asks, fidgeting. His eyes flick uncertainly between his drink and Jinyoung’s face. Jinyoung realizes that he’s been quiet for too long, as his imagination runs away with him.

“There are very few games that would make this party more interesting,” Jinyoung says, forcing a smile and hoping Jackson doesn’t think Jinyoung is unhappy to be here. Despite the watery beer and the constant crashing noises and the escalating boredom, Jinyoung can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be spending his Saturday. “What did you have in mind?”

“I propose a simple game of chicken,” Jackson says, eyes flashing with something that Jinyoung doesn’t recognize. Suddenly, Jackson leans forward and places a hand on Jinyoung’s knee, and all of the action around them fades away to that single point. Jinyoung stares at Jackson’s hand and holds himself very, very still, heartbeat tripping over itself in his ears. Jackson’s hand is dry, ashy around the knuckles, and so warm it feels like it’s searing a hole in Jinyoung’s jeans. Jackson’s fingers curl slowly, and his nails scrape lightly against the denim. Jinyoung’s nerves feel like they’re on fire.

Jackson clears his throat, and Jinyoung tears his eyes away from his knee. He looks up to find Jackson watching him, eyes dark in a way that Jinyoung’s only every seen in his daydreams. Jackson bites his lip, and for a moment, he looks for all the world like he wants to be touching a lot more than Jinyoung’s knee.

As quickly as it happened, it’s over, and Jackson is withdrawing his hand, leaving Jinyoung’s knee cold and oversensitive. Jinyoung leans back on his barstool, realizing he had been instinctively leaning forward, chasing the closeness he thought was imminent. Jackson grabs his drink and holds it aloft to Jinyoung in a mock toast.

“The first to back down loses,” he says with a devilish grin. He takes a drink, watching Jinyoung over the rim of his glass.

 _Oh,_ Jinyoung thinks, his brain finally catching up with what just happened. Jackson’s idea of a fun game is to dance at the edges of their tentative physical boundaries and see who pulls away first. Jinyoung would be good at this, he knows--hell, he would be _great_ \--but that’s beside the point. The point is that the lines are already getting blurred in Jinyoung’s mind, after a simple hand on the knee. How far will Jackson go, if given free reign? How far will Jinyoung let him?

This is a bad idea.

“This is a bad idea,” Jinyoung says, shaking his head, as much to himself as to Jackson. He wants to play, so much that he aches a little bit just thinking about it, but the odds of Jinyoung being able to walk away unaffected are slim. Jackson can probably mess around and cross boundaries and forget about it by the time the sun goes down, but Jinyoung can’t. He’ll lie awake tonight, reliving every touch, every almost-something-more, until his heart is raw and bloody.

“I mean, if you’re too scared, I totally understand,” Jackson says, taunting. He blinks his wide eyes a few times for extra effect, dark lashes batting faux-innocently.

Boy, does he know exactly how to push Jinyoung’s buttons.

What’s a little hurt later, anyway, for the satisfaction of messing with Jackson now? If he gets one gasp, one heated look out of Jackson, it’ll be worth it. Jinyoung’s mind feels hazy as he wonders how far he could go, wonders where Jackson’s boundaries are, wonders when was the last time someone tested them. Jinyoung leans forward, enjoying the way Jackson’s pupils slowly dilate as the distance between them closes.

“Hyung!”

Jackson’s head jerks away, and Jinyoung leans back just as Yugyeom jogs over, tripping across the neon carpet in his bowling shoes. He skids to a stop next to Jackson and tugs on his sleeve.

“Bambam wants to open presents.”

“Okay, present time!” Jackson agrees, clapping his hands once and standing up from his barstool. Jackson’s face is flushed as he flags down the bartender. Jinyoung wonders if it’s from the alcohol, or the embarrassment at being caught in a compromising position by Yugyeom, or something else entirely. Jinyoung hopes it’s because of him, hopes he’s getting under Jackson’s skin the same way Jackson’s been crawling under his own.

“Go on back, we’ll be there in a minute,” Jinyoung tells Yugyeom, who nods and scurries away as quickly as he had appeared. Jackson orders another round and asks to settle the bill. Jackson leans his back against the bar while he waits for the drinks, and Jinyoung manages to sneak some cash to the bartender while Jackson’s back is turned. When the second round arrives, Jackson is still turned away, pressing his hands to his reddened cheeks, maybe in an attempt to cool them down. It’s cute, and it softens Jinyoung’s competitive spirit. He nudges Jackson with his elbow and passes him a beer. “Are you sure you want to do this? It seems… unwise.”

“Nothing fun ever came from being wise,” Jackson taunts, taking the beer with a wicked smile.

“You are going to regret this,” Jinyoung says, although he’s not sure if he’s talking to Jackson or to himself. His stomach is already in knots from the anticipation alone.

“You only live once,” Jackson sing-songs, shoving off of the bar and heading back toward the boys.

Jinyoung groans, calling after Jackson. “You did _not_ just rationalize your actions with YOLO.”

“YOLOOOO,” Jackson calls out, raising his beer in the air as he dances away.

Jinyoung grabs his own beer and follows. This isn’t going to end well.

Bowling is momentarily forgotten as the boys gather to watch Bambam open his presents. Something warm blooms in Jinyoung’s chest as he watches Bambam open each gift and take the time to sincerely thank each person. After the last gift is opened, Jackson emerges with a birthday cake. Everyone sings, and Bambam smiles so big his eyes nearly disappear.

Jinyoung declares himself in charge of cutting the cake (it’s only a butter knife, but he’s not taking any chances with Jackson’s culinary ineptitude) and Jackson in charge of distribution. Each kid gets a piece, and Jackson returns to Jinyoung’s side, where Jinyoung has left a piece for him.

“I shouldn’t,” Jackson says, eyeing the cake regretfully. Jinyoung recognizes an opportunity. He picks up the fork, loading it with a bite of cake, and holds it up to Jackson’s mouth.

“It’s only half the calories if someone feeds it to you,” Jinyoung murmurs, attempting to sound seductive.

“Is that so?” Jackson asks wryly. After only a moment of hesitation, he leans forward and opens his mouth, letting Jinyoung poke the fork in. Jinyoung purposely misses just slightly, smudging a bit of frosting on the side of Jackson’s mouth. Jackson retaliates by making significant eye contact as he sucks the dessert off the fork.

“You’ve got something…” Jinyoung reaches out with his thumb and swipes the frosting off of Jackson’s lip. He holds Jackson’s gaze as he brings his thumb to his own mouth and sucks the frosting off. Jackson swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he watches Jinyoung’s mouth with dark eyes.

Overwhelmed, Jinyoung turns away, pretending to be interested in the kids. The heat under his collar makes him feel antsy, and he can’t decide if he’d rather press closer or run away. He’s been just about dying for something like this to happen, but now that it is, everything feels surreal and overpowering. This is what he wanted, isn’t it? Does it count if it’s happening for all the wrong reasons?

The rest of the party goes without incident. The kids finish their cake and trickle out one by one, until it’s just Jinyoung, Jackson, and his boys left behind. Bambam and Yugyeom collapse into chairs, acting as exhausted as Jinyoung feels, and begin eating the rest of the cake directly out of the pastry box. Jinyoung knows they should probably scold the kids for overeating and get started cleaning up, but Jackson’s hand has taken up residence in the back pocket of his jeans, and Jinyoung is having a hard time concentrating on anything else.

“Can we play one more game?” Yugyeom asks, once they’ve scraped every last crumb from the box. Bambam is busy reading the synopsis on the back of a video game he received. Yugyeom chews on his fork, looking thoughtful. “I feel bad you guys didn’t get to play at all.”

Jackson shrugs, using the motion to discreetly remove his hand from Jinyoung’s pocket. “We’ve got the lane for another half hour.” He looks at Jinyoung, eyes twinkling playfully. “What do you think? Feel like getting your ass kicked today?”

“I haven’t played in years,” Jinyoung protests, knowing perfectly well that the longer he stays in this bowling alley, the more time Jackson has to slowly break him down, look by sultry look. Then again, neither of them has backed down yet, so they haven’t established a winner. Despite his overwhelming urge to cut his losses and run, Jinyoung wants a resolution to this.

“I’ll take it easy on you,” Jackson promises, snaking an arm around Jinyoung’s waist.

“Why don’t you two just play together?” Bambam asks, scrunching his nose at Jackson’s display. “Jackson-hyung and I can’t be on the same team anyways.”

“Why not?” Jinyoung asks.

“Those two are the best players,” Yugyeom says. “It would be unfair otherwise.”

“Okay, adults versus kids, then,” Jinyoung says, disentangling himself from Jackson to reset the scorecard. Even with his back turned, he can feel Jackson’s gaze on him, making his skin break out in goosebumps. He won’t lie; it’s exciting, feeling wanted for the first time in years. Is it wise? Most definitely not.

Bambam bowls first, and makes a tidy spare. Jinyoung is next. He selects a ball from the multicolored array, unsure which one would suit him. Blue seems like a safe color, right? The ball feels heavier than he remembers bowling balls feeling, and his sweaty fingers make his grip slippery. He throws the ball, his stiff jeans making his leg spasm out to the side. It must be a hilarious display, if the laughs from behind him are any indication. The ball rolls directly into the gutter. He turns back to the group, mortified.

“Don’t worry, Jinyoung-ah,” Jackson says, raising an arm and flexing his bicep. “I’ll just use these guns to carry our team.”

Jinyoung rolls his eyes. He grabs another ball, pink this time, and proceeds to throw another gutterball. He drags his feet back to the couch, and sits next to Jackson, who looks far too amused for Jinyoung’s liking.

“Have you ever bowled before?” Bambam asks, as Yugyeom knocks down a respectable seven pins.

“Be nice,” Jackson warns. He pats Jinyoung encouragingly on the back. “He’s just warming up.”

“These pants are really bad for this,” Jinyoung sniffs, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels.

Jackson leans in close enough to whisper and waggles his eyebrows. “Then take them off.”

Jinyoung chokes on his breath, and Jackson leaps off the couch to take his turn. He manages a spare as well.

The game continues in much the same way. Jackson and the boys toss insults at each other like they do this every day. Bambam and Yugyeom holler like animals every time one of them does well. Jackson insists on “coaching” Jinyoung, which apparently involves wrapping his arms around Jinyoung’s waist and guiding his hands as he throws the ball. It’s so comfortable, playing around with all of them, that Jinyoung almost forgets he’s supposed to be playing another game with higher stakes.

It all comes back to him when Jackson gets his first strike. Jackson turns back to the group, hands in the air, face beaming. The boys hoot and holler. Jinyoung cheers too, as Jackson’s eyes meet his. Jackson sprints toward Jinyoung, arms outstretched. Jinyoung stands and braces for impact.

Jackson’s body connects with Jinyoung’s, his arms coming to wrap around Jinyoung’s neck. His legs coil around Jinyoung’s hips, and Jinyoung grunts as he struggles to support Jackson’s weight. Jackson’s arms tighten around Jinyoung’s shoulders, and his face tucks itself perfectly into Jinyoung’s shoulder. He huffs a happy breath that tickles Jinyoung’s neck. A collective groan rises from the boys.

“Get a room!” Bambam hollers. Yugyeom throws a ball of wrapping paper at them.

“Respect your elders!” Jackson retorts, even as his legs drop from Jinyoung’s hips and he steps back, arms dropping down to his sides. The boys grumble behind him, but Jackson is unperturbed, throwing in a wink for good measure.

Jinyoung needs to step up his game, bowling and otherwise.

The taunts and insults increase in intensity as the game progresses. They reach the last frame, and, thanks to Jackson’s skill, the score between the two teams is close enough to tie.

“I believe in you!” Jackson calls as Jinyoung steps up to bowl his final turn.

“Don’t mess this up!” Yugyeom contributes helpfully. Jinyoung hears a yelp behind him, presumably from Jackson forcibly silencing Yugyeom.

He takes a deep breath and throws the ball. It curves beautifully, sliding just to the right of the first pin, and knocking everything down. Jinyoung, certain he’s peaked in this moment and will never do anything better, takes a seat on the ground in front of lane. The sounds of shrieking approach him, and in an instant, he’s being crushed by not only Jackson, but also Yugyeom and Bambam.

“Okay, okay,” Jinyoung grunts, pushing bodies off of his own until he can breathe again. Jackson grabs his hand and pulls him to his feet and directly into a suffocating hug.

“I’m so proud of you,” Jackson coos, stroking the back of Jinyoung’s head. Jackson pulls back and takes Jinyoung’s face in both of his hands. His eyes are intensely fond. “Do you think you can do that again?”  
“Why?” Jinyoung whines. He peaked, and that was the last frame.

“If you get a strike in the last frame, you get to go again,” Yugyeom informs him.

“Do I have to?” Jinyoung asks. Jackson has removed his hands from Jinyoung’s face and is busy shoving him back toward the ball return.

“You can do this,” Jackson insists, passing Jinyoung the pink ball that has been most successful thus far. “Just do the exact same thing you just did.”

“Right,” Jinyoung agrees sardonically. Still, he approaches the lane, takes a deep breath, and throws the ball. Like an instant replay of his last turn, the ball curves in a perfect arc and knocks everything down.

The noise that erupts behind him is so loud Jinyoung is amazed it’s coming from only three people. In the next instant, he’s being lifted off his feet and shaken like a rag doll. He can’t help but laugh, as Bambam and Yugyeom dance around him, stomping their feet and clapping.

“I’m retiring,” Jinyoung announces, once his feet touch the ground.

“Not yet, you’re not,” Jackson says, dragging Jinyoung again to the ball return. “You’ve got one more turn.”

“You’re joking,” Jinyoung insists. Jackson presses the ball into his hands.

“You can get up to three strikes in the last frame,” Jackson says, pushing him toward the lane. “You got this.”

“There’s no way he can get three in a row,” Bambam murmurs behind him. Yugyeom shushes him.

Still, that doubt is enough to light the competitive fire in Jinyoung’s chest. He whips the ball down the lane with every ounce of strength in him, and is rewarded with a gratifying crash as he achieves a third strike.

The world seems to slow down as Jinyoung turns back to the group, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. Jackson is rushing toward him, positively beaming, and Jinyoung holds his arms out, anticipating the breath being knocked out of him and not even caring.

Jackson’s hands don’t reach for Jinyoung’s waist, though. They reach for his face, and Jinyoung watches in shock as Jackson pulls him in close, close enough that their foreheads lean against each other. All Jinyoung can see at this distance is Jackson’s eyes, big and emotive and full of something purposeful.

“You’re amazing,” Jackson whispers. His breath tickles across Jinyoung’s lips, and then his eyes are closing, and soft lips press gently against Jinyoung’s own. For a moment, Jinyoung can’t think about anything but that feeling, and the smell of Jackson’s cologne, and the sight of Jackson’s dark eyelashes fanned out on his cheeks. Then Jinyoung remembers to breathe, and pulls back to suck in a gasp of air.

Jackson’s hands fall from Jinyoung’s face as he steps back. His expression isn’t shocked, like Jinyoung is feeling, like everything in his world just changed. No, Jackson looks… proud, almost smug, and Jinyoung can’t for the life of him understand why.

“You pulled away,” Jackson says, eyes gleaming with something darkly satisfied. “I win.”

Just like that, the illusion is shattered, the world moves at full speed again. Jinyoung searches Jackson’s face, looking for anything other than victory, for any indication that Jackson _felt_ something that wasn’t related to a stupid game of chicken.

Jinyoung’s throat is so dry, he can’t swallow past the feeling. He shakes his head, disbelief stealing his voice. For the first time since the kiss, uncertainty flickers across Jackson’s face.

“Jinyoung-ah,” Jackson says, reaching out to grab Jinyoung’s sleeve.

“I should go,” he says, shaking Jackson’s hand off. He pushes past Jackson, past the boys who are approaching him with congratulations on the strike, and heads directly for the door.

 

//

 

The next few days are miserable. Jinyoung’s phone is constantly beeping with text messages from the boys, and the occasional phone call from Jackson. Jackson leaves a voice message every time, but Jinyoung can’t bring himself to listen to them. He doesn’t want to hear Jackson’s voice. He doesn’t want to know if it’s embarrassed, or repentant, or indifferent. He doesn’t want to be forced to listen to those things on repeat in his mind for the next several years.

Even days later, his skin still crawls when he remembers that kiss, and the self-congratulatory look on Jackson’s face. What a fool he’s been.

The whole situation was as much of a wake-up call as Jinyoung could have asked for. What has he been doing, really? Playing with people’s emotions for his own selfish reasons, and hoping everything would all be all right when it was over? The boys have come to rely on him as a fixture in their life, if their frequent messages are any indication. He’s known since day one that it was supposed to be temporary. He should’ve set boundaries, he should’ve declined the invitation to stay for that first drama night, he should’ve never played that stupid game of chicken.

Several times a day, Jinyoung oscillates between feeling guilty at letting it get this far, and angry with Jackson for egging him on. Jackson knew how Jinyoung felt, even from that first night at the bar. He had to know how difficult it would be for Jinyoung to play pretend, never mind that Jinyoung is the one who volunteered for the scheme. Did Jackson think he could just keep blurring lines, keep flying so close to the sun, and Jinyoung wouldn’t take it seriously, wouldn’t be hurt when it fell apart?

It feels like it’s falling apart, and Jinyoung doesn’t know how to handle it.

By Tuesday, Jinyoung has proceeded to full-blown wallowing. He cancelled his lunch plans with Jaebum, and ignored the repeated text messages asking why. He’s spent the entire day in bed, actually, alternating between watching documentaries about crimes of passion and sleeping fitfully. When he emerges from another restless nap late in the afternoon, he checks his phone to find several messages waiting for him.

Kim Yugyeom: _hyung_

Kim Yugyeom: _it’s the second to last episode tonight_

Kim Yugyeom: _you’ll be there, right?_

Jinyoung didn’t know his heart could break anymore, but there it goes--another crack, another ache. He bites his knuckle to distract himself from the lump in his throat. This is exactly what shouldn’t have happened. The kids were never supposed to miss him. They were supposed to be suspicious of him and want nothing to do with him, all the better for a clean break when Jackson didn’t need him anymore. Of course they had to be awesome, kind kids. Of course they had to worm their way into Jinyoung’s heart with their spirit and kindness and take up residence there. Of course nothing can be as simple as Jinyoung was promised it would be.

Maybe going over to their apartment is the best idea, after all. He can apologize to the kids for his behavior at the party and have one more (selfish) night with them. When Jackson gets home from his call center job, Jinyoung will be there, and they’ll talk. Jinyoung will get his shit together and ask for some answers, and if he doesn’t get them, he’ll leave this all behind. It’ll be painful--hell, it’s already painful--but it will be definitive, and that is what Jinyoung needs right now. Definition.

He replies to Yugyeom’s message in the affirmative, and is rewarded with a smiling emoji. Is it bad that something as simple as that still warms him to his core? One cartoon smiley face and Jinyoung already feels a little hopeful that things will work out. That naivety is exactly what got him into this trouble in the first place.

Jinyoung showers away the gross feeling of lying in bed all day and dons the green sweater that he knows is Jackson’s favorite (if it’s all going to end tonight, he’d like to leave Jackson with a memory to torment him--it’s petty, but that’s what Jinyoung does best, or so he’s been told). He leaves his condo on trembling legs. The radio irritates the static in his head, so he turns it off and drives the whole way in silence.

He arrives at the apartment with a cold weight in his stomach that he can’t shake. His heart pounds in his chest as he knocks, tentatively at first, and then louder, when he realizes no one probably heard him. There are scuffling sounds from inside, and the door opens to an irritated-looking Bambam.

“I gave you the code so you would stop knocking,” Bambam says, with far too much attitude than a child ought to have for an adult.

“Sorry,” Jinyoung says, entering the apartment with a heavy heart. It’s too difficult to think that this might be the last evening he spends here, so he pushes the thought to the back of his mind, and focuses on putting on a happy act for the kids. When Jinyoung enters the living room, Yugyeom is on the couch, pre-gaming for the new episode by watching the last one, like he does every week.

“Hi, Jinyoung-hyung,” Yugyeom says, smiling softly. The fact that he even looked away from the show tells Jinyoung more than words ever could. The ice in Jinyoung’s stomach melts a little. “I’m glad you made it.”

“I would never miss drama night,” Jinyoung swears, even though the dishonesty burns a little in the back of his throat on its way out. He changes the topic. “Did you guys eat dinner?”

Bambam plops down on the couch, sharing a guilty look with Yugyeom.

“We were kind of hoping you would make it…”

Brats. One time Jinyoung made dinner, when the kids were busy working on a school project up until the new episode aired and Jinyoung felt bad for them. _One time,_ and since then, they’ve expected Jinyoung to cook for them every Tuesday. He ought to be annoyed, but if he’s being totally honest with himself, he kind of loves that they like his cooking.

“Is someone at least going to help me?” Jinyoung asks, crossing his arms. Bambam takes one look at Yugyeom, who has tuned them both out already in favor of watching the show, and shoves himself off the couch. Jinyoung reaches out and ruffles his hair as he trudges to the kitchen. He’s a good kid. They both are.

They chit-chat as they cook, about Bambam’s day at school, about what they think is going to happen in the next episode, about what side dish Bambam is craving. It’s so easy to be this person, Jinyoung thinks. He almost wonders if it’s so easy because he’s meant to be here, meant to be this family’s missing piece. But then again, that could be the loneliness talking. Jinyoung’s never had this type of closeness, other than with his own family, and it could just be the craving for closeness that makes him think he belongs here.

“Why didn’t you finish the game at my party?” Bambam asks, as he scoops rice into bowls. “You didn’t even stay to see who won.”

“I forgot that I had somewhere I needed to be,” Jinyoung lies, busying himself with the food so he doesn’t have to look into Bambam’s eyes.

“You didn’t say anything before about having plans after my party,” Bambam says quietly, and yes, that’s a hint of disappointment in his voice. Jinyoung resists the urge to reach out and crush him into a hug.

“I’m an adult, you know,” Jinyoung chides instead, finally facing Bambam and seeing the unhappiness on his face. “Do you really need to know all of my plans?”

“Well, it would be nice,” Bambam mutters, piling food into two dishes for himself and Yugyeom. He picks up the dishes and turns to go back to the living room. Jinyoung stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Jinyoung says gently. Bambam turns back, but keeps his eyes trained on the floor. “I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings, okay?”

“I know,” Bambam mumbles at the dishes in his hands.

“Are we cool?” Jinyoung asks. Bambam nods begrudgingly. It’s enough for now. “Who won, anyways?”

“We did,” Bambam says, finally looking up. He doesn’t look happy at the victory, though. “Jackson-hyung forfeited after you left.”

Bambam heads off to the living room, leaving Jinyoung standing in the kitchen. He wants to call the kid back and ask for more details--was Jackson upset? Why would he forfeit what was basically a guaranteed victory?

“It’s starting!” Yugyeom shrieks from the living room, startling Jinyoung out of his thoughts. He joins the kids on the couch, and does his best to focus on the plot of the show. Still, his mind wanders, and he finds his thoughts drifting back to Jackson, imagining the look on his face after Jinyoung left, wondering if Jackson forfeited the game because he regretted what he’d done.

“Are you feeling okay?” Yugyeom asks, nudging Jinyoung in the side. Jinyoung shakes his head to clear it, and looks at Yugyeom, whose big brown eyes are concerned.

“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“They revealed the murderer, and your theory was right, and you haven’t said anything,” Yugyeom says, pointing at the TV. The end credits are rolling on the screen.

“Oh,” Jinyoung says dumbly, trying to figure out how he lost an hour of time daydreaming. “I guess I just wasn’t paying attention.”

Yugyeom’s eyebrows scrunch together as he looks at Jinyoung. Luckily, Jinyoung is saved from deeper scrutiny as the sound of the code being entered in the front door startles all three of them.

Jackson enters the living room, and makes eye contact with Jinyoung. The look on his face--a turbulent mixture of sadness and trepidation--makes Jinyoung feel sick to his stomach.

“Hyung!” Bambam says, sounding surprised. “Why are you home so early?”

Jackson’s focus turns from Jinyoung, but the tension between them remains. “The power went out, so they sent us all home.”

“You just missed the ending,” Yugyeom informs Jackson, gathering the dishes from their dinner. “Jinyoung-hyung was right about the killer all along.”

“Is that so?” Jackson asks, almost absentmindedly. His gaze returns to Jinyoung, pinning him in his seat. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s drama night,” Bambam says, like it’s obvious. “He comes over every Tuesday.”

“Right,” Jackson says, finally breaking out of his daze and rubbing a hand over his face. He says nothing else, just walks mindlessly into the kitchen, leaving the boys to turn to look at Jinyoung, faces full of worry and confusion.

“Can you guys just… give me and Jackson a few minutes?” Jinyoung says, trying to keep the tension out of his voice. From the looks on the boys’ faces, it doesn’t work. “Just… go to the convenience store or something, okay? Here--” Jinyoung digs out his wallet, retrieves a few bills, and passes them to Bambam. “Get an ice cream. We won’t take long.”

The boys leave, shooting wide-eyed, nervous looks over their shoulders as they go. It hurts to see them looking so uncertain. Jinyoung wishes he could call them back and pull them into a hug and tell them it’ll be okay. He kind of wishes someone would do that for him, too.

Jinyoung waits until the door shuts and locks behind the kids before making his way to the kitchen. He stops in the doorway. Jackson is sitting at the kitchen table with his back to the hallway. His back curves in a perfect, weary arch as he leans over, resting his elbows on the table. He looks broken, defeated, and Jinyoung has to take a moment to swallow back the tightness in his throat.

Jinyoung enters the kitchen, and takes the seat across from Jackson. Jackson doesn’t look up at him, but Jinyoung can tell by the stiffness in his shoulders that Jackson knows he’s there.

“We need to talk,” Jinyoung says, doing his best to keep the tremble out of his voice.

Jackson keeps his eyes trained on his hands, which are clasped on the table. He chews on his lip for a while, clenching his hands rhythmically together with such force that the knuckles are white, and then looks up at Jinyoung with an expression so _wrecked_ that it takes Jinyoung’s breath away.

“I’m a fucking idiot,” Jackson says earnestly. “I took it too far, and I'm sorry. It was a stupid idea, for a stupid game, and I never should have suggested it. I’m so sorry.”

That wasn’t what Jinyoung was expecting at all.

“Why did you do it, then?” Jinyoung asks, when he finds his voice.

“I don’t know,” Jackson says, shaking his head and looking away. He’s quiet for so long that Jinyoung wonders if that was all Jackson had to say. But eventually, Jackson clears his throat, and his eyes, when they meet Jinyoung’s, are full of something intense. “I want more than I’m allowed to have, when it comes to you,” Jackson says, and his voice is rough. “I don’t always know how to handle it.”

The words are like a punch to Jinyoung’s gut. His head swims as he tries to decipher that information. Jackson wants more? He wants more than this elaborate charade they’ve concocted? How much more, exactly? And is it as much as Jinyoung wants?

“You've known how I felt since the first time we met,” Jinyoung says eventually, pushing aside the searing hope that’s begun burning under his sternum. They need to settle a few things, first, before he allows himself to believe Jackson’s words. “You had to know how difficult it would be for me to play that game. Every day of this is hard for me, Jackson. And the further we take this, the harder it gets.” Jinyoung swallows against the lump rising in his throat, carefully choosing his next words. “How long are we going to be doing this?”

“What do you mean?” Jackson asks.

“How long are we going to be pretending like we love each other?” Jinyoung asks. Jackson sits back, something like pain creasing his face.

“I still need a few more weeks of extra shifts at the bar to cover their tuition,” Jackson says, something cold overtaking his features. “I know you’re probably sick of this already, and I’m so grateful for what you’ve done. I understand if this isn’t what you want, but if you could just hold on for a little longer--”

“No, Jackson,” Jinyoung interrupts sharply. He takes a deep breath to calm himself, and casts his eyes down to the top of the table, so he won’t have to see Jackson’s face as he talks. “I… iron their uniforms, I cook their dinner. I take them to their dance practices because you’re at work--” Jackson tries to interrupt, but Jinyoung hold a hand up to stop him. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to do it. But, Jackson… I’m listed as an emergency contact at their school. They’ve introduced me to their _friends._ Exactly how long are we going to keep pretending that all this--” he waves a hand uselessly at the kitchen that he cleaned and stocked and organized, and then between himself and Jackson, the closest he can get to acknowledging the emotions between them-- “is fake?”

When Jinyoung looks up, Jackson looks shocked. He sits with his mouth open, completely silent, for a moment so long that Jinyoung wonders if he’s broken him. When it becomes clear that Jackson doesn’t have a response, Jinyoung clears his throat, and takes a deep, shaky breath.

“Does it feel fake to you?”

The words ring loudly in the silence of the kitchen. Jinyoung feels like he’s at the top of a roller coaster, about to plummet back to earth. Jackson’s answer will determine if he gets there safely, or if the car flies off the rails.

“No,” Jackson says, and his voice is hoarse with emotion. “No, it doesn’t.”

With those words, a shock of electricity shoots up Jinyoung’s spine, making goosebumps prickle out across his skin. He feels lightheaded, almost dizzy, with relief. Tears sting at his eyes, and through them, he can see Jackson, rubbing a hand at his own eyes. Jinyoung reaches a hand across the table, and Jackson takes it and squeezes like his life depends on it, and Jinyoung finally, _finally_ feels like he did something right.

“So what do we do now?”

Before Jackson can answer, the front door opens, and the kids come tumbling in. Their rambunctious entrance slows to a careful tiptoe as Jinyoung hears them come down the hall to the kitchen. Two heads of hair, tousled by the wind, poke around the corner, faces tense with curiosity.

“Are you done yet?” Bambam asks, none too gracefully.

“As done as we’ll ever get around here, I suppose,” Jackson says, releasing Jinyoung’s hand and rubbing his hands over his face. Jinyoung discreetly dabs at his own eyes, as the kids enter the kitchen.

“What did you guys get?”

“Ice cream,” Yugyeom says, holding up the plastic bag. “And…” he opens the bag and digs through it. He pulls out a toothbrush, of all things, and passes it to Jinyoung. It’s bright pink, and has a cartoon princess on it, and as Jinyoung takes it, he can’t help but laugh.

“What’s this?”

“We thought maybe if you had one here, you would stay over more often, instead of going back to your place,” Yugyeom says shyly.

“We bought earplugs, too!” Bambam says, grabbing the bag from Yugyeom and digging out a box of multicolored foam earplugs. “So you guys won’t have to worry about being loud during sex!”

“Bam!” Jackson gasps, voice going high-pitched and mortified. Jinyoung just laughs, though. There’s hope for the two of them. This isn’t going to be the last night he spends in this apartment. That news alone is enough to make any embarrassment bearable.

“That’s… sweet. I think,” Jinyoung says. He turns the toothbrush over, examining the pink plastic. “Why does this have a princess on it?”

“Yugyeom picked it out,” Bambam says with a shrug, turning back to dig out the ice cream they’d bought. Over Bambam’s shoulder, Yugyeom sticks his tongue out at Jinyoung. Jinyoung does it back. Bambam passes an ice cream to Jinyoung. Jinyoung takes it, eyes immediately tearing up again when he realizes it’s his favorite flavor. Bambam looks panicked. “Did I get the wrong one? Oh my God, don’t cry! You can have Yugyeom’s!”

“Hey!” Yugyeom interjects, quickly snatching his ice cream from the bag and holding it to his chest defensively.

“No, it’s perfect,” Jinyoung says. He hesitates for a moment, then drags Bambam into a hug.

“What the hell?” Bambam mutters into Jinyoung’s shoulder, even as his arms come to wrap gently around Jinyoung’s waist. “It’s just ice cream, no need to get so worked up about it.”

“Thank you,” Jinyoung says, dropping a kiss onto Bambam’s soft hair before releasing him. Bambam rubs at the top of his head, making a disgusted face, but Jinyoung can tell by the pinkness of his cheeks that he liked it.

“Wait, go back!” Jackson says, holding his phone up like he was trying to get a photo of the moment. Bambam sticks his tongue out at the camera before grabbing his ice cream and bolting from the kitchen. Yugyeom follows, somehow already halfway through his treat and unbothered about speed.

“I hope you’re as good at cooking breakfast as you are at dinner,” Yugyeom calls over his shoulder as he walks away. “I have a big test tomorrow.”

“You should be studying, then!” Jackson calls after him. The only response is the sound of the TV being turned on. Jackson turns back to Jinyoung, shaking his head defeatedly. “Spoiled brats. It’s way past their bedtime.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Jinyoung says. He feels awkward being alone with Jackson, now that things are out on the table, and it’s easier to run away from it than face it head-on. He enters the living room and leans against the back of the couch, bending down until his face is directly between the boys. When he speaks, he makes his voice intentionally low and intimidating. “You have fifteen minutes to finish eating, brush your teeth, and get in bed or you won’t get to watch the finale of the drama next week.”

Bambam pauses with his ice cream halfway to his mouth and narrows his eyes at Jinyoung. “You wouldn’t.”

Jinyoung leans in, so close their noses are almost touching. “Try me.”

Bambam trembles but holds his ground. Yugyeom, meanwhile, crumples up his wrapper and practically leaps off the couch.

“Yugyeom-ah!” Bambam protests.

Yugyeom is already rushing to the bathroom, hollering over his shoulder as he goes. “The stakes are too high!”

Jackson emerges from the kitchen, awestruck.

“You’re an evil genius.”

“I have my ways.” Jinyoung shrugs. Bambam makes a disgruntled noise from the couch, but he’s still quickly consuming his ice cream, so Jinyoung counts it as a win.

“Are you really going to stay the night?” Jackson asks, looking uncertain. Before Jinyoung can answer, Bambam stands up from the couch, a popsicle stick all that remains of his treat.

“Of course he’s staying,” Bambam interjects, walking between them and toward the bathroom. “Go make out and stuff,” Bambam calls over his shoulder as he passes. “We’ll use our earplugs.”

When Jinyoung turns back to Jackson, his ears are pink. He rubs awkwardly at his hair in his signature nervous habit.

“You don’t really have to stay,” Jackson says quietly, looking everywhere but in Jinyoung’s eyes. “They’re just kids being pushy. If you want to go home, I won’t be offended.”

“No,” Jinyoung says, after a moment of thought. His pulse pounds in his ears as Jackson looks up, hope softening the lines on his face. “I’ll stay.”

Little did he know that those two words would send Jackson into an absolute frenzy. Jinyoung is banished from Jackson’s room as Jackson panic-cleans, banging around and making far more noise than Jinyoung would think possible for merely tidying a bedroom. Jinyoung spends his time peeking in on the boys in their room (they’re sleeping already, or at least faking it very convincingly) and going to the bathroom to change into some worn pajamas that Jackson tosses at him in the hallway. Jinyoung even brushes his teeth with his new princess toothbrush, chuckling at his reflection in the mirror.

After a while, he gets tired of waiting around for Jackson to deem his bedroom presentable--a day which truthfully may never arrive. He pushes the door open, ignoring Jackson’s panicked yelp, and enters Jackson’s bedroom for the first time.

It’s small, but Jinyoung expected that. Of course Jackson would give the larger bedroom to his boys, and cram his own double bed into the smaller room. There’s only about a meter of space around the bed in each direction, but Jackson has somehow managed to fill every spare inch with junk. The bed is unmade, and Jinyoung’s heart pounds at the thought of lying where Jackson sleeps, smelling him on the sheets.

“You’ll take the bed, then,” Jackson says, when he realizes where Jinyoung is looking. He begins clearing an area on the ground beside the bed, and Jinyoung realizes with sudden mirth what Jackson is about to do.

“I'm not going to make you sleep on the floor in your own home, Jackson,” Jinyoung protests. “Besides, it's my fault that they made me spend the night--”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Jackson interrupts, then promptly begins to strip his bed of sheets and blankets, dumping everything in a heap on the floor. He heads to his closet, rifling through it until he emerges with clean sheets. He then proceeds to perform the most dramatic bed-making Jinyoung has ever seen. The sheets snap audibly as he flaps them in the air, movements jerky and over-pronounced. “Nothing is your fault. Everything about this situation and all situations from now on is forever my fault.”

“Are you calling dibs on taking blame?” Jinyoung asks, amused by Jackson’s petulance. Jackson pauses in his task to look at Jinyoung, affronted.

“Yes,” he huffs, then resumes his task, with just as much fervor as before. It’s cute, watching him get all worked up on Jinyoung’s behalf.

After Jackson finishes with the bed (he fluffed the pillows and everything--Jinyoung considers tipping him), he plops down into the pile of sheets he had thrown on the ground earlier. He kicks them around, burrowing down like an animal until he’s mostly covered. He looks up at Jinyoung and motions impatiently toward the immaculate bed.

“You are not sleeping there,” Jinyoung says, disbelieving. Jackson looks like an abandoned puppy on the floor in his nest of blankets.

“Yes, I am,” Jackson insists. “It’s either this or the couch, and that thing always messes with my back.”

“You know there is another option,” Jinyoung says. Jackson’s eyes go wide. He looks at the bed, then back at Jinyoung, and points at it, tilting his head like he’s not willing to believe Jinyoung just suggested they sleep in the same place. Jackson, the loveable fool, is willing to confess that he has more-than-friendly feelings for Jinyoung, but seems terrified by the prospect of sharing a blanket with him less than an hour later.

“Get in the bed,” Jinyoung sighs, kicking at Jackson’s sheet-covered feet. “Don’t make me threaten you.”

“Beg me, more like,” Jackson grumbles, but he’s got a shy lift to the corner of his mouth that tells Jinyoung he’s happy not to sleep on the ground. He climbs out of his sheet nest and pulls back the covers on the bed, crawling under the blanket in seconds flat. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Right.

Jinyoung pulls back the covers and slides into the bed delicately, doing his best to reduce the squeak of mattress springs. He lies back and pulls the blanket up to his chest, crossing his arms over the top and staring up at the ceiling, doing his best not to look over at his bed mate, whose gaze Jinyoung can feel boring into the side of his face.

“Do you normally sleep like a vampire, or is this just a special show for me?” Jackson asks. Jinyoung flings out an arm to smack Jackson’s chest. Jackson giggles.

“I’m trying not to give the boys something to listen to,” Jinyoung grumbles. “Do you really think they’re using the earplugs?”

“No,” Jackson scoffs. “They’re probably listening intently.”

“All the more reason to stay very still,” Jinyoung concludes. Jackson sighs, and silence falls in the room. Jackson keeps staring at him though, and each passing second feels like an eternity as his ears grow hot.

“Do you have to stare at me like that?” Jinyoung blurts out, finally turning his head to the side to meet Jackson’s gaze. That was a mistake, though, as it turns out Jackson’s face is much closer than Jinyoung had anticipated. Jackson’s round eyes are soft, wrinkles tickling the edges as he smiles.

“I like looking at you,” Jackson admits with a shrug of his shoulder. “You’re very handsome. It can’t be helped.”

Jinyoung’s face is definitely red now, but in the dark, Jackson doesn’t seem to notice. He just holds Jinyoung’s gaze, face full of something intense that, after the stress of last few days, Jinyoung isn’t sure he has the strength to unpack right now.

“You know we’re going to have to talk about everything eventually, right?” Jinyoung asks, surprising himself with a yawn.

Jackson scowls. “Mood killer.”

Jinyoung just smiles, unbothered. The bed is warm, and the moonlight streaming in through the window is doing dreamy things to Jackson’s skin, and his eyelids are beginning to feel heavy. There’s time to discuss all of that later, anyways.

The last thing he remembers before he falls asleep is Jackson’s face, smiling back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, the next chapter is going to take a while after this. Posting twice in a week is a total fluke, please don't expect that again.
> 
> Big thanks to Zeph and Jaz for being the best impromptu betas a girl could ask for! Also everybody go wish [Jaz](https://twitter.com/wangaepark) a happy birthday, she deserves all the love in the world <3


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